UNIVERSITY  OP 
CALIFORNIA 
SAN  DIEGO 


BALZAC'S     NOVELS. 

Translated  by  Miss  K.  P.  Wormeley. 

Already  Publiahed: 
PÈRE     GORIOT. 
DUCHESSE     DE     LANGEAIS. 
RISE  AND  FALL  OF  CÉSAR  BIROTTEAU. 
EUGÉNIE     GRANDET. 
COUSIN     PONS. 
THE     COUNTRY     DOCTOR. 
THE     TMTO     BROTHERS. 

THE  ALKAHEST  (La  Recherche  de  l'Absolu). 
MODESTE     MIGNON. 

THE   MAGIC    SKIN  (La  Peau  de  Chagrin). 
COUSIN     BETTE. 
LOUIS    LAMBERT. 
BUREAUCRACY  (Les  Employés). 
SERAPHITA. 

SONS    OP    THE    SOIL   (Les  Paysans). 
FAME    AND    SORROW    (Chat-qui-pelote). 
THE   LILY    OF    THE   VALLEY. 
URSULA. 

AN   HISTORICAL   MYSTERY. 
ALBERT    SAVARUS. 
BALZAC  :    A  MEMOIR. 
PIERRETTE. 
THE    CHOUANS. 
LOST    ILLUSIONS. 
A  GREAT   MAN   OP   THE    PROVINCES  IN 

PARIS. 
THE  BROTHERHOOD  OF   CONSOLATION. 
THE    VILLAGE    RECTOR. 
MEMOIRS    OF    TWO     YOUNG    MARRIED 

WOMEN. 
CATHERINE    DE'    MEDICI. 
LUCIEN   DE    RUBEMPRÉ. 

FERRAGUS,  CHIEF  OP  THE  DÉVORANTS. 
A   START   IN   LIFE. 
THE    MARRIAGE    CONTRACT. 
BEATRIX. 

DAUGHTER   OP   EVE. 
THE    GALLERY    OF   ANTIQUITIES. 


ROBERTS  BROTHERS,  Publishers,  Boston. 


HONORÉ    DE    BALZAC 

TRANSLATED    BY 

KATHARINE    PRESCOTT    WORMELEY 


URSULA 


ROBERTS     BROTHERS 


3     SOMERSET     STREET 


BOSTON 
1896 


Copyright,  1891, 
By  Roberts  Brothers. 


All  rights  reserved. 


®nt6etaitg  Ipress: 
John  Wilson  and  Son,  Cambridge,  U.S.A. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.     The  Frightened  Heiks 2 

IL     The  Rich  Uncle 21 

III.  The  Doctor's  Friends 39 

IV.  ZÉLIE 57 

V.     Ursula 74 

VI.     A  Treatise  on  Mesmerism  ....  90 

VII.     A  Two-Fold  Conversion Ill 

VIII.     The  Conference 123 

IX.     A  First  Confidence 137 

X.     The  Family  of  Portenduère  .     .     .  153 

XL     Savinien  Saved 169 

XII.     Obstacles  to  Young  Love  ....  191 

XIII.  Betrothal  of  Hearts 205 

XIV.  Ursula  again  Orphaned     ....  227 
XV.     The  Doctor's  Will 240 

XVI.     The  Two  Adversaries 261 

XVII.     The     Malignity     of     Provincial 

Minds 273 

XVIII.     A  Two-Fold  Vengeance 293 

XIX.     Apparitions 311 

XX.     Remorse 333 

XXI.     Showing    how   Difficult    it    is    to 
Steal    that    which    seems    very 

EASILY  Stolen 344 


URSULA. 


To  Mademoiselle  Sophie  Sdrville  : 

It  is  a  true  pleasure,  my  clear  niece,  to  dedicate  to 
you  this  book,  the  subject  and  details  of  which  have 
won  the  approbation,  so  difficult  to  win,  of  a  3'oung 
girl  to  whom  the  world  is  still  unknown,  and  who  has 
compromised  with  none  of  the  loft}'  principles  of  a 
saintl}'  education.  Young  girls  are  indeed  a  formida- 
ble public,  for  the}'  ought  not  to  be  allowed  to  read 
books  less  pure  than  the  purity  of  their  souls  ;  they 
are  forbidden  certain  reading,  just  as  the}'  are  carefully 
prevented  from  seeing  social  life  as  it  is.  Must  it  not 
therefore  be  a  source  of  pride  to  a  writer  to  find  that 
he  has  pleased  you."* 

God  grant  that  your  affection  for  me  has  not  misled 

you.     Who  can  tell  ?  —  the  future  ;  which  you,  I  hope, 

will  see,  though  not,  perhaps. 

Your  uncle, 

De  Balzac. 


Ursula. 


I. 

THE  FRIGHTENED   HEIRS. 

Entering  Nemours  by  the  road  to  Paris,  we  cross 
the  canal  du  Loing,  the  steep  banks  of  which  serve  the 
double  purpose  of  ramparts  to  the  fields  and  of  pictur- 
esque promenades  for  the  inhabitants  of  that  pretty 
little  town.  Since  1830  several  houses  have  unfor- 
tunately been  built  on  the  farther  side  of  the  bridge. 
If  this  sort  of  suburb  increases,  the  place  will  lose  its 
present  aspect  of  gi'aceful  originality. 

In  1829,  however,  both  sides  of  the  road  were  clear, 
and  the  master  of  the  post  route,  a  tall,  stout  man  about 
sixty  3'ears  of  age,  sitting  one  fine  autumn  morning  at 
the  highest  part  of  the  bridge,  could  take  in  at  a  glance 
the  whole  of  what  is  called  in  his  business  a  "  ruban  de 
queue."  The  month  of  September  was  displaying  its 
treasures  ;  the  atmosphere  glowed  above  the  grass  and 
tlie  pebbles  ;  no  cloud  dimmed  the  blue  of  the  sky,  the 
purity  of  which  in  all  parts,  even  close  to  the  horizon, 
showed  the  extreme  rarefaction  of  the  air.  So  Minoret- 
Levrault  (for  that  was  the  post  master's  name)  was 
obliged  to  shade  his  ej'es  with  one  hand  to  keep  them 
from   being    dazzled.     With    the   air    of  a    man  who 


Ursula.  3 

was  tired  of  waiting,  he  looked  first  to  the  charming 
n:>'iadows  which  lay  to  the  right  of  the  road  where  the 
aftei'math  was  springing  up,  then  to  the  hill-slopes 
covered  with  copses  which  extend,  on  the  left,  from 
Nemours  to  Bouron.  He  could  hear  in  the  valley  of 
the  Loing,  where  the  sounds  on  the  road  were  echoed 
back  from  the  hills,  the  trot  of  his  own  horses  and 
the  crack  of  his  postilion's  whip. 

None  but  a  post  master  could  feel  impatient  within 
sight  of  such  meadows,  filled  with  cattle  worthy  of  Paul 
Potter  and  glowing  beneath  a  Raffaelle  sk}',  and  beside 
a  canal  shaded  with  trees  after  Hobbema.  Whoever 
knows  Nemours  knows  that  nature  is  there  as  beautiful 
as  art,  whose  mission  it  is  to  spiritualize  it  ;  there,  the 
landscape  has  ideas  and  creates  thought.  But,  on  catch- 
ing sight  of  Minoret-Levrault  an  artist  would  veiy  likely 
have  left  the  view  to  sketch  the  man,  so  original  was 
his  in  his  native  commonness.  Unite  in  a  human  being 
all  the  conditions  of  the  brute  and  ^'ou  have  a  Caliban, 
who  is  certainly  a  great  thing.  AYherever  form  rules, 
sentiment  disappears.  The  post  master,  a  living  proof 
of  that  axiom,  presented  a  physiognomy  in  which  an 
observer  could  with  difficulty  trace,  beneath  the  vivid 
carnation  of  its  coarsely  developed  flesh,  the  semblance 
of  a  soul.  His  cap  of  blue  cloth,  with  a  small  peak, 
and  sides  fluted  like  a  melon,  outlined  a  head  of  vast 
dimensions,   showing   that  Gall's  science   has  not  yet 


4  Ursula. 

produced  its  chapter  of  exceptions.  The  gray  and 
rather  shiny  hair  which  appeared  below  the  cap  showed 
that  other  causes  than  mental  toil  or  grief  had  whitened 
it.  Large  ears  stood  out  from  the  head,  their  edges 
scarred  with  the  eruptions  of  his  over-abundant  blood, 
which  seemed  ready  to  gush  at  the  least  exertion.  His 
skin  was  crimson  under  an  outside  layer  of  brown,  due 
to  the  habit  of  standing  in  the  sun.  The  roving  gray 
eyes,  deep-sunken,  and  hidden  by  bushy  black  brows, 
were  like  those  of  the  Kalmucks  who  entered  France  in 
1815  ;  if  they  ever  sparkled  it  was  onl}-  under  the  in- 
fluence of  a  covetous  thought.  His  broad  pug  nose 
was  flattened  at  the  base.  Thick  lips,  in  keeping  with 
a  repulsive  double  chin,  the  beard  of  which,  rarel}' 
cleaned  more  than  once  a  week,  was  encircled  with  a 
dirt}^  silk  handkerchief  twisted  to  a  cord  ;  a  short 
neck,  rolling  in  fat,  and  heavy  cheeks  completed  the 
characteristics  of  brute  force  which  sculptors  give  to 
their  caryatides.  Minoret-Levrault  was  like  those 
statues,  with  this  difference,  that  whereas  they  sup- 
port an  edifice,  he  had  more  than  he  could  well  do  to 
support  himself.  You  will  meet  manj^  such  Atlases 
in  the  world.  The  man's  torso  was  a  block  ;  it  was 
like  that  of  a  bull  standing  on  his  hind-legs.  His  vig- 
orous arms  ended  in  a  pair  of  thick,  hard  hands,  broad 
and  strong  and  well  able  to  handle  whip,  reins,  and 
pitchfork  ;  hands  which  his  postilions  never  attempted 


Ursula.  5 

to  trifle  with.  The  enormous  stomach  of  this  giant 
rested  on  thighs  which  were  as  large  as  the  body  of  an 
ordinary  adult,  and  feet  like  those  of  an  elephant. 
Anger  was  a  rare  thing  with  him,  but  it  was  terrible, 
apoplectic,  when  it  did  burst  forth.  Though  violent 
and  quite  incapable  of  reflection,  the  man  had  never 
done  anything  that  justified  the  sinister  suggestions 
of  his  bodily  presence.  To  all  those  who  felt  afraid 
of  hira  his  postilions  would  reply,  "Oh  !  he's  not  bad." 

The  master  of  Nemours,  to  use  the  common  abbrevia- 
tion of  the  country,  wore  a  velveteen  shooting-jacket 
of  bottle-green,  trousers  of  green  linen  with  green 
stripes,  and  an  ample  yellow  waistcoat  of  goat's  skin, 
in  the  pocket  of  which  might  be  discerned  the  round 
outline  of  a  monstrous  snuff-box.  A  snuflT-box  to  a 
pug  nose  is  a  law  without  exception. 

A  son  of  the  Revolution  and  a  spectator  of  the 
Empire,  Minoret-Levrault  did  not  meddle  with  poli- 
tics ;  as  to  his  religious  opinions,  he  had  never  set  foot 
in  a  church  except  to  be  married  ;  as  to  his  private 
principles,  he  kept  them  within  the  civil  code  ;  all  that 
the  law  did  not  forbid  or  could  not  prevent  he  consid- 
ered right.  He  never  read  anything  but  the  journal  of 
the  department  of  the  Seine-et-Oise,  and  a  few  printed 
instructions  relating  to  his  business.  He  was  consid- 
ered a  clever  agriculturist  ;  but  his  knowledge  was  only 
practical.     In  him  the  moral  being  did  not  belie  the 


6  Ursula. 

physical.  He  seldom  spoke,  and  before  speaking  he 
always  took  a  pinch  of  snuff  to  give  himself  time,  not 
to  find  ideas,  but  words.  If  he  had  been  a  talker  j-ou 
would  have  felt  that  he  was  out  of  keeping  with  him- 
self. Reflecting  that  this  elephant  minus  a  trumpet 
and  without  a  mind  was  called  Minoret-Levrault,  we 
are  compelled  to  agree  with  Sterne  as  to  the  occult 
power  of  names,  which  sometimes  ridicule  and  some- 
times foretell  characters. 

In  spite  of  his  visible  incapacity  he  had  acquired 
during  the  last  thirtA'-six  3'ears  (the  Revolution  helping 
him)  an  income  of  thirt}'  thousand  francs,  derived  from 
farm  lands,  woods  and  meadows.  If  Minoret,  being 
master  of  the  coach-lines  of  Nemours  and  those  of  the 
Gâtinais  to  Paris,  still  worked  at  his  business,  it  was 
less  from  habit  than  for  the  sake  of  an  onlj-  son,  to 
whom  he  was  anxious  to  give  a  fine  career.  This  son, 
who  was  now  (to  use  an  expression  of  the  peasantry) 
a  monsieur,  had  just  completed  his  legal  studies  and 
was  about  to  take  his  degree  as  licentiate,  preparatory 
to  being  called  to  the  bar.  Monsieur  and  Madame 
Minoret-Levrault  —  for  behind  our  colossus  everj'  one 
will  perceive  a  woman  without  whom  this  signal  good- 
fortune  would  have  been  impossible  —  left  their  son  free 
to  choose  liis  own  career  ;  he  might  be  a  notary  in 
Paris,  king's-attorney  in  some  district,  collector  of 
customs  no  matter  where,  broker,  or  post  master,  as 


Ursula.  7 

he  pleased.  "What  fancy  of  his  could  they  ever  refuse 
hiiu  ?  to  what  position  in  life  might  he  not  aspire  as  the 
son  of  a  man  about  whom  the  whole  countryside,  from 
Montargis  to  Essonne,  was  in  the  habit  of  saying, 
"  Père  Minoret  does  n't  even  know  how  rich  he  is  "? 

This  sa^'ing  had  obtained  fresh  force  about  four  j-ears 
before  this  history  begins,  when  Minoret,  after  selling 
his  inn,  built  stables  and  a  splendid  dwelling,  and  re- 
moved the  post-house  from  the  Grand'  Rue  to  the  wharf. 
The  new  establishment  cost  two  hundred  thousand 
francs,  which  the  gossip  of  thirty  miles  in  circum- 
ference more  than  doubled.  The  Nemours  mail- 
coach  service  requires  a  large  number  of  horses.  It 
goes  to  Fontainebleau  on  the  road  to  Paris,  and  from 
there  diverges  to  Montargis  and  also  to  Montereau. 
The  relays  are  long,  and  the  sandy  soil  of  the  Montargis 
road  calls  for  the  mythical  third  horse,  alwaj's  paid  for 
and  never  seen.  A  man  of  Minoret's  build,  and  Min- 
oret's  wealth,  at  the  head  of  such  an  establishment 
might  well  be  called,  without  contradiction,  the  master 
of  Nemours.  Though  he  never  thought  of  God  or  devil, 
being  a  practical  materialist,  just  as  he  was  a  practical 
agriculturist,  a  practical  egoist,  and  a  practical  miser, 
Minoret  had  enjoyed  up  to  this  time  a  life  of  unmixed 
happiness, —  if  we  can  call  pure  materialism  happiness. 
A  physiologist,  observing  the  rolls  of  flesh  which  covered 
the  last  vertebrae  and  pressed  upon  the  giant's  cerebellum, 


8  Ursula. 

and,  above  all,  hearing  the  shrill,  sharp  voice  which 
contrasted  so  absurdly  with  his  huge  bod}',  would  have 
understood  why  this  ponderous,  coarse  being  adored  his 
only  son,  and  why  he  had  so  long  expected  him,  —  a 
fact  proved  by  the  name,  Desire,  which  was  given  to  the 
child. 

The  mother,  whom  the  boy  fortunately  resembled, 
rivalled  the  father  in  spoiling  him.  No  child  could  long 
have  resisted  the  effects  of  such  idolatry.  As  soon  as 
Desire  knew  the  extent  of  his  power  he  milked  his 
mother's  coffer  and  dipped  into  his  father's  purse,  mak- 
ing each  author  of  his  being  believe  that  he,  or  she, 
alone  was  petitioned.  Desire,  who  played  a  part  in 
Nemours  far  beyond  that  of  a  prince  ro3'al  in  his  father's 
capital,  chose  to  gratify  his  fancies  in  Paris  just  as  he 
had  gratified  them  in  his  native  town  ;  he  had  therefore 
spent  a  yearly  sum  of  not  less  than  twelve  thousand 
francs  during  the  time  of  his  legal  studies.  But  for  that 
money  he  had  certainly  acquired  ideas  that  never  would 
have  come  to  him  in  Nemours  ;  he  had  stripped  off  the 
provincial  skin,  learned  the  power  of  mone}'  and  seen 
in  the  magistracy  a  means  of  advancement  which  he 
fancied.  During  the  last  j-ear  he  had  spent  an  extra 
sum  of  ten  thousand  francs  in  the  company'  of  artists, 
journalists,  and  their  mistresses.  A  confidential  and 
rather  disquieting  letter  from  his  son,  asking  for  his 
consent  to  a  marriage,  explains  the  watch  which  the 


Ursula.  9 

post  master  was  now  keeping  on  the  bridge  ;  for  Madame 
Minoret-Levrault,  busy  in  preparing  a  sumptuous  break- 
fast to  celebrate  the  triumphal  return  of  the  licentiate, 
had  sent  her  husband  to  the  mail  road,  advising  him  to 
take  a  horse  and  ride  out  if  he  saw  nothing  of  the  dili- 
gence. The  coach  which  was  conveying  the  precious 
son  usually  arrived  at  five  in  the  morning,  and  it  was 
now  nine  !  What  could  be  the  meaning  of  such  delay  ? 
Was  the  coach  overturned?  Could  Desire  be  dead? 
Or  was  it  nothing  worse  than  a  broken  leg  ? 

Three  distinct  volle3's  of  cracking  whips  rent  the  air 
like  a  discharge  of  musketrj"  ;  the  red  waistcoats  of  the 
postilions  dawned  in  sight,  ten  horses  neighed.  The 
master  pulled  off  his  cap  and  waA'ed  it  ;  he  was  seen. 
The  best  mounted  postilion,  who  was  returning  with  two 
gray  carriage-liorses,  set  spurs  to  his  beast  and  came  on 
in  advance  of  the  five  stout  diligence  horses  and  the 
three  other  cai-riage-horses,  and  soon  reached  his  master. 

"  Have  3'ou  seen  the  '  Dueler  '  ?  " 

On  the  great  mail  routes  names,  often  fantastic,  are 
given  to  the  different  coaches  ;  such,  for  instance,  as 
the  "Gaillard,"  the  "Dueler"  (the  coach  between 
Nemours  and  Paris),  the  "Grand  Bureau."  Every 
new  enterprise  is  called  the  "  Competition."  In  the 
days  of  the  Lecompte  company  their  coaches  were  called 
the  "  Countess."  —  "  '  Caillard  '  could  not  overtake  the 
'Countess';  but   '  Grand  Bureau  '    caught  up  with  her 


10  Ursula. 

finely,"  3"OU  will  hear  the  men  saj'.  If  you  see  a  postil- 
ion pressing  his  horses  and  refusing  a  glass  of  wine, 
question  the  conductor  and  he  will  tell  you,  snuffing  the 
air  while  his  eye  gazes  far  into  space,  "  The  '  Competi- 
tion '  is  ahead."  —  "We  can't  get  in  sight  of  her,"  cries 
the  postilion  ;  "  the  vixen  !  she  would  n't  stop  to  let  her 
passengers  dine."  —  "  The  question  is,  has  she  got 
an}'  ?  "  responds  the  conductor.  "  Give  it  to  Polignac  !  " 
All  laz}'  and  bad  horses  are  called  Polignac.  Such  are 
the  jokes  and  the  basis  of  conversation  between  postil- 
ions and  conductors  on  the  roofs  of  the  coaches.  Each 
profession,  each  calling  in  France  has  its  slang. 

"  Have  3'ou  seen  the  '  Dueler  '  ?  "  asked  Minoret. 

"  Monsieur  Desire  ?  "  said  the  postilion,  interrupting  his 
master.  "  He}"  !  you  must  have  heard  us,  did  n't  our  whips 
tell  you?  we  felt  30U  were  somewhere  along  the  road." 

"  Wh}'  is  the  diligence  four  hours  late?" 

"  The  tire  of  one  of  the  rear  wheels  got  loose  between 
Essonne  and  Ponthierry.  But  there  was  no  accident  ; 
luckil}',  CabiroUe  saw  what  had  happened  in  time." 

Just  then  a  woman  dressed  in  her  Sunday  clothes, —  for 
the  bells  were  pealing  from  the  clock  tower  and  calling 
the  inhabitants  to  mass,  —  a  woman  about  thirt^^-six 
years  of  age  came  up  to  the  post  master. 

"Well,  cousin,"  she  said,  "  3'ou  wouldn't  believe 
me —  Uncle  is  with  Ursula  in  the  Grand'Rue,  and 
the}'  are  going  to  mass." 


Ursula.  11 

In  spite  of  the  modern  poetic  canons  as  to  local 
color,  it  is  quite  impossible  to  push  realism  so  far  as 
to  repeat  the  horrible  blasphemy  mingled  with  oaths 
which  this  news,  apparently  so  unexciting,  brought 
from  the  huge  mouth  of  Minoret-Levrault  ;  his  shrill 
voice  grew  sibilant,  and  his  face  took  on  the  appear- 
ance of  what  people  oddl3'  enough  call  a  sunstroke. 

"Is  that  true?"  he  asked,  after  the  first  explosion 
of  his  wrath  was  over. 

The  postilions  bowed  to  their  master  as  they  and 
their  horses  passed  him,  but  he  seemed  to  neither  see 
nor  hear  them.  Instead  of  waiting  for  his  son,  Minoret- 
Levrault  hurried  up  the  Grand'Rue  with  his  cousin. 

"Didn't  I  always  tell  you  so?"  she  resumed. 
"  When  Doctor  Minoret  goes  out  of  his  head  that 
demure  little  hypocrite  will  drag  him  into  religion  ; 
whoever  la3S  hold  of  the  mind  gets  hold  of  the  purse, 
and  she  '11  have  our  inheritance." 

'  '  But,  Madame  Massin  —  "  said  the  post  master, 
dumbfounded. 

"There  new!"  exclaimed  Madame  Massin,  inter- 
rupting her  cousin.  "  You  are  going  to  sa}-,  just  as 
Massin  does,  that  a  little  girl  of  fifteen  can't  invent 
such  plans  and  carr}'  them  out,  or  make  an  old  man 
of  eight}'- three,  who  has  never  set  foot  in  a  church 
except  to  be  married,  change  his  opinions,  —  now 
don't  tell  me  he  has  such  a  horror  of  priests  that  he 


12  Ursula. 

would  n't  even  go  with  the  girl  to  the  parish  church 
when  she  made  her  first  communion.  I  'd  like  to  know 
why,  if  Doctor  Minoret  hates  priests,  he  has  spent 
nearly  every  evening  for  the  last  fifteen  years  of  his 
life  with  the  Abbé  Chaperon.  The  old  hypocrite  never 
fails  to  give  Ursula  twenty  francs  for  wax  tapers  every 
time  she  takes  the  sacrament.  Have  30U  forgotten 
the  gift  Ursula  made  to  the  church  in  gratitude  to  the 
curé  for  preparing  her  for  her  first  communion  ?  She 
spent  all  her  money  on  it,  and  her  godfather  returned 
it  to  her  doubled.  You  men  !  j'ou  don't  pay  attention 
to  things.  When  I  heard  that,  I  said  to  mj'self, 
'  Farewell  baskets,  the  vintage  is  done  !  '  A  rich 
uncle  does  n't  behave  that  wa}'  to  a  little  brat  picked 
up   in   the   streets   without   some   good   reason." 

"  Pooh,  cousin  ;  I  dare  saj*  the  goodman  is  only 
taking  her  to  the  door  of  the  church,"  replied  the  post 
master.     "  It  is  a  fine  da^^  and  he  is  out  for  a  walk." 

"I  tell  you  he  is  holdmg  a  praj'er-book,  and  looks 
sanctimonious  —  you  '11  see  him." 

"  The}-  hide  their  game  pretty  well,"  said  Minoret, 
"  La  Bougival  told  me  there  was  never  an}'  talk  of 
religion  between  the  doctor  and  the  abbé.  Besides, 
the  abbé  is  one  of  the  most  honest  men  on  the  face 
of  the  globe  ;  he  'd  give  the  shirt  oflT  his  back  to  a 
poor  man  ;  he  is  incapable  of  a  base  action,  and  to 
cheat   a   famil}'   out  of  their  inheritance   is  —  " 


Ursula.  13 

"Theft,"  said  Madame  Massin. 

"  Worse  !  "  cried  Minoret-Levrault,  exasperated  by 
the  tongue  of  his  gossipping  neighbor. 

"  Of  course  I  know,"  said  Madame  Massin,  "  that 
the  Abbé  Chaperon  is  an  honest  man  ;  but  he  is 
capable  of  anything  for  the  sake  of  his  poor.  He 
must  have  mined  and  undermined  uncle,  and  the  old 
man  has  just  tumbled  into  piety.  We  did  nothing, 
and  here  he  is  perverted  !  A  man  who  never  be- 
lieved in  anything,  and  had  principles  of  his  own  ! 
Well  !  we  're  done  for.  My  husband  is  absolutely 
beside  himself." 

Madame  Massin,  whose  sentences  were  so  many 
arrows  stinging  her  fat  cousin,  made  him  walk  as 
fast  as  herself,  in  spite  of  his  obesity  and  to  the  great 
astonishment  of  the  church-goers,  who  were  on  their 
way  to  mass.  She  was  determined  to  overtake  this 
uncle  and  show  him  to  the  postmaster. 

Nemours  is  commanded  on  the  Gâtinais  side  by  a 
hill,  at  the  foot  of  which  runs  the  road  to  Montargis 
and  the  Loing.  The  church,  on  the  stones  of  which 
time  has  cast  a  rich  discolored  mantle  (it  was  re- 
built in  the  fourteenth  century  by  the  Guises,  for 
whom  Nemours  was  raised  to  a  peerage-duch^-),  stands 
at  the  end  of  the  little  town  close  to  a  great  arch 
which  frames  it.  For  buildings,  as  for  men,  position 
docs  everything.     Shaded  by  a  few  trees,  and  thrown 


14  Ursula. 

into  relief  by  a  neatly  kept  square,  this  solitary  church 
produces  a  really  grandiose  effect.  As  the  post  master 
of  Nemours  entered  the  open  space,  he  beheld  his 
uncle  with  the  young  girl  called  Ursula  on  his  ai-m, 
both  carrying  prayer-books  and  just  entering  the 
church.  The  old  man  took  off  his  hat  in  the  porch, 
and  his  head,  which  was  white  as  a  hill-top  covered 
with  snow,  shone  among  the  shadows  of  the  portal. 

"Well,  Minoret,  what  do  you  say  to  the  conversion 
of  your  uncle?"  cried  the  tax-collector  of  Nemours, 
named   Crémière. 

"What  do  3'ou  expect  me  to  say?"  replied  the  post 
master,  offering  him  a  pinch  of  snuff. 

"  Well  answered,  Père  Levrault.  You  can't  say 
what  3'ou  think,  if  it  is  true,  as  an  illustrious  author 
says  it  is,  that  a  man  must  think  his  words  befoi^e  he 
speaks  his  thought,"  cried  a  3'oung  man  standing  near, 
who  played  the  part  of  Mephistopheles  in  the  little 
town. 

This  ill-conditioned  youth,  named  Goupil,  was  head 
clei'k  to  Monsieur  Crémière-Dionis,  the  Nemours  no- 
tary. Notwithstanding  a  past  conduct  that  was  almost 
debauched,  Dionis  had  taken  Goupil  into  his  office 
when  a  career  in  Paris  —  where  the  clerk  had  wasted 
all  the  money  he  inherited  from  his  father,  a  well-to-do 
farmer,  who  educated  him  fora  notary  —  was  brought 
to  a  close  by  his  absolute  pauperism.     The  mere  sight 


Ursula.  15 

of  Goupil  told  an  observer  that  he  had  made  haste 
to  enjo}^  life,  and  had  paid  dear  for  his  enjoyments. 
Though  ver}'  short,  his  chest  and  shoulders  were  de- 
veloped at'  twenty-seven  years  of  age  like  those  of  a 
man  of  fort}'.  Legs  small  and  weak,  and  a  broad 
face,  with  a  cloudy  complexion  like  the  sky  before  a 
storm,  surmounted  b}'  a  bald  forehead,  brought  out 
still  further  tlie  oddity  of  his  conformation.  His  face 
seemed  as  though  it  belonged  to  a  hunchback  whose 
hunch  was  inside  of  him.  One  singularité'  of  that 
pale  and  sour  visage  confirmed  the  impression  of  an 
invisible  gibbositj'  ;  the  nose,  crooked  and  out  of 
shape  like  those  of  many  deformed  persons,  turned 
from  right  to  left  of  the  face  instead  of  dividing  it 
down  the  middle.  The  mouth,  contracted  at  the  cor- 
ners, like  that  of  a  Sardinian,  was  alwa^'s  on  the 
qui  vive  of  iron}-.  His  hair,  thin  and  reddish,  fell 
straight,  and  showed  the  skull  in  many  places.  His 
hands,  coarse  and  ill-joined  at  the  wrists  to  arms 
that  were  far  too  long,  were  quick-fingered  and  seldom 
clean.  Goupil  wore  boots  onl}-  fit  for  the  dust- heap, 
and  raw  silk  stockings  now  of  a  russet  black  ;  his  coat 
and  trousers,  all  black,  and  threadbare  and  greasy 
with  dirt,  his  pitiful  waistcoat  with  half  the  button- 
moulds  gone,  an  old  silk  handkerchief  which  served 
as  a  cravat  —  in  short,  all  his  clothing  revealed  the 
C3"nical   poverty   to   which    his   passions   had   reduced 


16  Ursula. 

him.  This  combination  of  disreputable  signs  was 
guarded  by  a  pair  of  eyes  with  yellow  circles  round 
the  pupils,  like  those  of  a  goat,  both  lascivious  and 
cowardly.  No  one  in  Nemours  was  more  feared  nor, 
in  a  wa3',  more  deferred  to  than  Goupil.  Strong  in 
the  claims  made  for  him  by  his  very  ugliness,  he 
had  the  odious  style  of  wit  peculiar  to  men  who  allow 
themselves  all  license,  and  he  used  it  to  gratify  the 
bitterness  of  his  life-long  envy.  He  wrote  the  satirical 
couplets  sung  during  the  carnival,  organized  charivaris, 
and  was  himself  a  "little  journal"  of  the  gossip  of 
the  town.  Dionis,  who  was  clever  and  insincere,  and 
for  that  reason  timid,  kept  Goupil  as  much  through 
fear  as  for  his  keen  mind  and  thorough  knowledge  of 
all  the  interests  of  the  town.  But  the  master  so  dis- 
trusted his  clerk  that  he  himself  kept  the  accounts, 
refused  to  let  him  live  in  his  house,  held  him  at  arm's 
length,  and  never  confided  any  secret  or  delicate  affair 
to  his  keeping.  In  return  the  clerk  fawned  upon 
the  notary,  hiding  his  resentment  at  this  conduct,  and 
watching  Madame  Dionis  in  the  hope  that  he  might 
get  his  revenge  there.  Gifted  with  a  ready  mind  and 
quick  comprehension  he  found  work  eas}'. 

"You  !  "  exclaimed  the  post  master  to  the  clerk,  who 
stood  rubbing  his  hands,  "  making  game  of  our  mis- 
fortunes already'?" 

As  Goupil  was  known  to  have  pandered  to  Dionis' 


Ursula.  17 

passions  for  the  last  five  years,  the  post  master  treated 
him  cavalierly,  without  suspecting  the  hoard  of  ill-feel- 
ings he  was  piling  up  in  Goupil's  heart  with  every 
fresh  insult.  The  clerk,  convinced  that  money  was 
more  necessary  to  him  than  it  was  to  others,  and  know- 
ing himself  superior  in  mind  to  the  whole  bourgeoisie 
of  Nemours,  was  now  counting  on  his  intimacy  with 
Minoret's  son  Desire  to  obtain  the  means  of  buying  one 
or  other  of  three  town  offices,  —  that  of  clerk  of  the 
court,  or  the  legal  practice  of  one  of  the  sheriffs,  or 
that  of  Dionis  himself.  For  this  reason  he  put  up 
with  the  affronts  of  the  post  master  and  the  contempt  of 
Madame  Minoret-Levrault,  and  plaj-ed  a  contemptible 
part  towards  Desire,  consoling  the  fair  victims  whom 
that  youth  left  behind  him  after  each  vacation,  —  de- 
vouring the  crumbs  of  the  loaves  he  had  kneaded. 

"  If  I  were  the  nephew  of  a  rich  old  fellow,  he  never 
would  have  given  God  to  me  for  a  co-heir,"  retorted 
Goupil,  with  a  hideous  grin  which  exhibited  his  teeth  — 
few,  black,  and  menacing. 

Just  then  Massin-Levrault,  junior,  the  clerk  of  the 
court,  joined  his  wife,  bringing  with  him  Madame  Cré- 
mière, the  wife  of  the  tax-collector  of  Nemours.  This 
man,  one  of  the  hardest  natures  of  the  little  town,  had 
the  physical  characteristics  of  a  Tartar  :  ej'es  small  and 
round  as  sloes  beneath  a  retreating  brow,  crimped  hair, 
an   oily   skin,  huge    ears    without  any  rim,   a   mouth 

2 


18  Ursula. 

almost  without  lips,  and  a  scanty  beard.  He  spoke 
like  a  man  who  was  losing  his  voice.  To  exhibit  him 
thoroughly  it  is  enough  to  say  that  he  employed  his 
wife  and  eldest  daughter  to  serve  his  legal  notices. 

Madame  Crémière  was  a  stout  woman,  with  a  fair 
complexion  injured  by  red  blotches,  always  too  tightl}'- 
laced,  intimate  with  Madame  Dionis,  and  supposed  to 
be  educated  because  she  read  novels.  Full  of  preten- 
sions to  wit  and  elegance,  she  was  awaiting  her  uncle's 
money  to  "  take  a  certain  stand,"  decorate  her  salon, 
and  receive  the  bourgeoisie.  At  present  her  husband 
denied  her  Carcel  lamps,  lithographs,  and  all  the  other 
trifles  the  notar^^'s  wife  possessed.  She  was  excessively 
afraid  of  Goupil,  who  caught  up  and  retailed  her  '  '  slap- 
suslinquies  "  as  she  called  them.  One  day  Madame 
Dionis  chanced  to  ask  what  "  Eau"  she  thought  best  for 
the  teeth. 

"Tr}'  opium,"  she  replied. 

Nearly  all  the  collateral  heirs  of  old  Doctor  Minoret 
were  now  assembled  in  the  square  ;  the  importance  of 
the  event  which  brought  them  was  so  generally  felt  that 
even  groups  of  peasants,  armed  with  their  scarlet 
umbrellas  and  dressed  in  those  brilliant  colors  which 
make  them  so  picturesque  on  Sunday's  and  fête-da3"s, 
stood  b}-,  with  their  eyes  fixed  on  the  frightened  heirs. 
In  all  little  towns  which  are  midway  between  large  vil- 
lages and  cities  those  who  do  not  go   to  mass   stand 


Ursula.  19 

about  in  the  square  or  market-place.  Business  is  talked 
over.  In  Nemours  the  hour  of  church  service  was  a 
weekl}'  exchange,  to  which  the  owners  of  propert}'  scat- 
tered over  a  radius  of  some  miles  resorted. 

"  "Well,  how  would  you  have  prevented  it?"  said  the 
post  master  to  Goupil  in  repl}'  to  his  remark. 

"I  should  have  made  m^'self  as  important  to  him  as 
the  air  he  bi'eathes.  But  from  the  ver}-  first  30U  failed 
to  get  hold  of  him.  The  inheritance  of  a  rich  uncle 
should  be  watched  as  carefully  as  a  pretty  woman  —  for 
want  of  proper  care  they'll  both  escape  3-ou.  If  Ma- 
dame Dionis  were  here  she  could  tell  yon  how  true  that 
comparison  is." 

"  But  Monsieur  Bongi-and  has  just  told  me  there  is 
nothing  to  worry  about,"  said  Massin. 

"  Oh  !  there  are  plenty  of  wa3s  of  saying  that  !  " 
cried  Goupil,  laughing.  "  I  would  like  to  have  heard 
your  si}'  justice  of  the  peace  say  it.  If  there  is  nothing 
to  be  done,  if  he,  being  intimate  with  ^our  uncle,  knows 
that  all  is  lost,  the  proper  thing  for  him  to  sa\'  to  you 
is,  'Don't  be  worried.'" 

As  Goupil  spoke,  a  satirical  smile  overspread  his  face, 
and  gave  such  meaning  to  his  words  that  the  other  heirs 
began  to  feel  that  Massin  had  let  Bongrand  deceive  him. 
The  tax-collector,  a  fat  little  man,  as  insignificant  as  a 
tax-collector  should  be,  and  as  mucli  of  a  cipher  as  a 
clever   woman   could   wish,    hereupon    annihilated  his 


20  Ursula. 

co-heir,  Massin,  with  the  words:  —  "Did n't  I  tell 
3'ou  so  ?  " 

Trick}'  people  alwaj'S  attribute  trickiness  to  others. 
Massin  therefore  looked  askance  at  Monsieur  Bongrand, 
the  justice  of  peace,  who  was  at  that  moment  talking 
near  the  door  of  the  church  with  the  Marquis  du  Rouvre, 
a  former  client. 

"  If  I  were  sure  of  it  !  "  he  said. 

"You  could  neutralize  the  protection  he  is  now  giv- 
ing to  the  Marquis  du  Rouvre,  who  is  threatened  with 
arrest.  Don't  j'ou  see  how  Bongrand  is  sprinkling  him 
with  advice  ?  "  said  Goupil,  slipping  an  idea  of  retalia- 
tion into  Massin's  mind.  "  But  3'ou  had  better  go  easy 
with  your  chief  ;  he  's  a  clever  old  fellow  ;  he  might  use 
his  influence  with  your  uncle  and  persuade  him  not  to 
leave  everything  to  the  church." 

"Pooh!  we  sha'n't  die  of  it,"  said  Minoret-Levrault, 
opening  his  enormous  snuflT-box. 

"You  won't  live  of  it,  either,"  said  Goupil,  making 
the  two  women  tremble.  More  quick-witted  than  their 
husbands,  the}'  saw  the  privations  this  loss  of  inherit- 
ance (so  long  counted  on  for  man}'  comforts)  would  be 
to  them.  "  However,"  added  Goupil,  "we'll  drown 
this  little  grief  in  floods  of  champagne  in  honor  of 
Desire  —  sha'n't  we,  old  fellow?  "  he  cried,  tapping  the 
stomach  of  the  giant,  and  inviting  himself  to  the  feast 
for  fear  he  should  be  left  out. 


Ursula.  21 


II. 

THE  RICH  UNCLE. 

Before  proceeding  further,  persons  of  an  exact  tilm 
of  mind  may  like  to  read  a  species  of  family  inventor}-, 
so  as  to  understand  the  degrees  of  relationship  which 
connected  the  old  man  thus  suddenly  converted  to 
religion  with  these  three  heads  of  families  or  their 
wives.  This  cross-breeding  of  families  in  the  remote 
provinces  might  be  made  the  subject  of  many  instruc- 
tive reflections. 

There  are  but  three  or  four  houses  of  the  lesser 
nobility  in  Nemours  ;  among  them,  at  the  period  of 
which  we  write,  that  of  the  family  of  Portenduere  was 
the  most  important.  These  exclusives  visited  none 
but  nobles  who  possessed  lands  or  châteaus  in  the 
neighborhood  ;  of  the  latter  we  may  mention  the 
d'Aiglemonts,  owners  of  the  beautiful  estate  of  Saint- 
Lange,  and  the  Marquis  du  Rouvre,  whose  property, 
crippled  by  mortgages,  was  closely  watched  b}'  the 
bourgeoisie.  The  nobles  of  the  town  had  no  money. 
Madame  de  Portenduère's  sole  possessions  were  a 
farm  which  brought  a  rental  of  fortj'-seven  hundred 
francs,  and  her  town  house. 


22  Ursula. 

In  opposition  to  this  very  insignificant  Faubourg 
St.  Germain  was  a  group  of  a  dozen  rich  families, 
those  of  retired  millers,  or  former  merchants  ;  in  short 
a  miniature  bourgeoisie  ;  below  which,  again,  lived  and 
moved  the  retail  shopkeepers,  the  proletaries  and  the 
peasantry.  The  bourgeoisie  presented  (like  that  of 
the  Swiss  cantons  and  of  other  small  countries)  the 
curious  spectacle  of  the  ramifications  of  certain  autoch- 
thonous families,  old-fashioned  and  unpolished  perhaps, 
but  who  rule  a  whole  region  and  pervade  it,  until  nearly 
all  its  inhabitants  are  cousins.  Under  Louis  XI,,  an 
epoch  at  which  the  commons  first  made  real  names  of 
their  surnames  (some  of  which  are  united  with  those  of 
feudalism)  the  bourgeoisie  of  Nemours  was  made  up  of 
Minorets,  Massins,  Levraults  and  Crémières.  Under 
Louis  XIII.  these  four  families  had  already  produced 
the  Massin-Crémières,  the  Levrault-Massins,  the  Mas- 
sin-Minorets,  the  Minore  t-Minorets,  the  Crémière- 
Levraults,  the  Levrault-Minoret-Massins,  Massin-Lev- 
raults,  Minoret-Massins,  Massin-Massins,  and  Crémière- 
Massins,  —  all  these  varied  with  juniors  and  diversified 
with  the  names  of  eldest  sons,  as  for  instance,  Crémière- 
François,  Le vrault- Jacques,  Jean-Minoret  —  enough  to 
drive  a  Père  Anselme  of  the  People  frantic,  —  if  the 
people  should  ever  want  a  genealogist. 

The  variations  of  this  family  kaleidoscope  of  four 
branches  was  now  so  complicated  by  births  and  mar- 


Ursula.  23 

liages  that  the  genealogical  tree  of  the  bourgeoisie  of 
Nemours  would  have  puzzled  the  bénédictines  of  the 
Almanach  of  Gotha,  in  spite  of  the  atomic  science  with 
which  they  arrange  those  zigzags  of  German  alliances. 
For  a  long  time  the  Minorets  occupied  the  tanneries, 
the  Crémières  kept  the  mills,  the  Massins  were  in  trade, 
and  the  Levraults  continued  farmers.  Fortunately  for 
the  neighborhood  these  four  stocks  threw  out  suckers 
instead  of  depending  only  on  their  tap-roots  ;  the}' 
scattered  cuttings  by  the  expatriation  of  sons  who 
sought  their  fortune  elsewhere  ;  for  instance,  there  are 
Minorets  who  are  cutlers  at  Melun  ;  Levraults  at  Mon- 
targis  ;  Massins  at  Orléans  ;  and  Crémières  of  some 
importance  in  Paris.  Divers  are  the  destinies  of  these 
bees  from  the  parent  hive.  Rich  Massins  employ, 
of  course,  the  poor  working  Massins  —  just  as  Austria 
and  Prussia  take  the  German  princes  into  their  service. 
It  may  happen  that  a  public  office  Is  managed  by  a 
Minoret  millionnaire  and  guarded  by  a  Minoret  sen- 
tinel. Full  of  the  same  blood  and  called  b}'  the  same 
name  (for  sole  likeness),  these  four  roots  had  cease- 
lessly woven  a  human  network  of  which  each  thread 
was  delicate  or  strong,  fine  or  coarse,  as  the  case  might 
be.  The  same  blood  was  in  the  head  and  in  the  feet 
and  in  the  heart,  in  the  working  hands,  in  the  weakly 
lungs,  in  the  forehead  big  with  genius. 

The  chiefs  of  the  clan  were  faithful  to  the  little  town, 


24  Ursula. 

where  the  ties  of  family  were  relaxed  or  tightened 
according  to  the  events  which  happened  under  this 
curious  cognomenism.  In  whatever  part  of  France  you 
may  be,  you  will  find  the  same  thing  under  changed 
names,  but  without  the  poetic  charm  which  feudalism 
gave  to  it,  and  which  Walter  Scott's  genius  reproduced 
so  faithfully.  Let  us  look  a  little  higher  and  examine 
humanity  as  it  appears  in  histor3^  All  the  noble  fami- 
lies of  the  eleventh  centurj',  most  of  them  (except  the 
royal  race  of  Capet)  extinct  to-day,  will  be  found  to 
have  contributed  to  the  birth  of  the  Rohans,  Mont- 
morencj's,  Beauffremonts,  and  Mortemarts  of  our  time, 
—  in  fact  they  will  all  be  found  in  the  blood  of  the  last 
gentleman  who  is  indeed  a  gentleman.  In  other  words, 
every  bourgeois  is  cousin  to  a  bourgeois,  and  every 
noble  is  cousin  to  a  noble.  A  splendid  page  of  biblical 
genealogy  shows  that  in  one  thousand  years  three  fami- 
lies, Shem,  Ham,  and  Japhet,  peopled  the  globe.  One 
family  may  become  a  nation  ;  unfortunatelj^  a  nation 
may  become  one  family.  To  prove  this  we  need  oxAy 
search  back  through  our  ancestors  and  see  their  accumu- 
lation, which  time  increases  in  a  retrograde  geometric 
progression,  which  multiplies  of  itself  ;  reminding  us  of 
the  calculation  of  the  wise  man  who,  being  told  to  choose 
a  reward  from  the  king  of  Persia  for  inventing  chess, 
asked  for  one  ear  of  wheat  for  the  first  move  on  the 
board,  the  reward  to  be  doubled  for  each  succeeding 


Ursula.  25 

move  ;  when  it  was  found  that  the  kingdom  was  not 
large  enough  to  pay  it.  The  net-work  of  the  nobiUt}-, 
hemmed  in  by  the  net- work  of  the  bourgeoisie,  —  the 
antagonism  of  two  protected  races,  one  protected  by 
fixed  institutions,  the  other  by  the  active  patience  of 
labor  and  the  shrewdness  of  commerce,  —  produced 
the  revolution  of  1789.  The  two  races  almost  reunited 
are  to-day  face  to  face  with  collaterals  without  a  heri- 
tage. What  are  they  to  do?  Our  political  future  is 
big  with  the  answer. 

The  family  of  the  man  who  under  Louis  XV.  was 
simply  called  Minoret  was  so  numerous  that  one  of 
the  five  children  (the  Minoret  whose  entrance  into  the 
parish  church  caused  such  interest)  went  to  Paris  to 
seek  his  fortune,  and  seldom  returned  to  his  native 
town,  until  he  came  to  receive  his  share  of  the  inheri- 
tance of  his  grandfather.  After  suffering  many  things, 
like  all  young  men  of  firm  will  who  struggle  for  a  place 
in  the  brilliant  world  of  Paris,  this  sou  of  the  Minorets 
reached  a  nobler  destiny  than  he  had,  perhaps,  dreamed 
of  at  the  start.  He  devoted  himself,  in  the  first  in- 
stance, to  medicine,  a  profession  which  demands  both 
talent  and  a  cheerful  nature,  but  the  latter  qualification 
even  more  than  talent.  Backed  b}'  Dupont  de  Nemours, 
connected  by  a  luckj-  chance  with  the  Abbé  Morellet 
(whom  Voltaire  nicknamed  Mords-les),  and  protected  by 
the  Enc^'clopedists,  Doctor  Minoret  attached  himself  as 


26  Ursula. 

liegeman  to  the  famous  Doctor  Bordeu,  the  friend  of 
Diderot,  D'Alembert,  Ilelvetius,  the  Baron  d'Holbach 
and  Grimm,  in  whose  presence  he  felt  himself  a  mere 
bo}^  These  men,  influenced  b}'  Borden's  example, 
became  interested  in  Minoret,  who,  about  the  year 
1777,  found  himself  with  a  very  good  practice  among 
deists,  encyclopedists,  sensualists,  materialists,  or  what- 
ever you  are  pleased  to  call  the  rich  philosophers  of 
that  period. 

Though  Minoret  was  very  little  of  a  humbug,  he  in- 
vented the  famous  balm  of  Leliovre,  so  much  extolled 
by  the  "  Mercure  de  France,"  the  weekly  organ  of  the 
Enc3'clopedists,  in  whose  columns  it  was  permanently 
advertised.  The  apothecary  Lelievre,  a  clever  man, 
saw  a  stroke  of  business  where  Minoret  had  only  seen 
a  new  preparation  for  the  dispensar}-,  and  he  loj^ally 
shared  his  profits  with  the  doctor,  who  was  a  pupil  of 
Rouelle  in  chemistry  as  well  as  of  Bordeu  in  medicine. 
Less  than  that  would  make  a  man  a  materialist. 

The  doctor  married  for  love  in  1778,  during  the  reign 
of  the  "  Nouvelle  Héloise,"  when  persons  did  occasion- 
ally marr}'  for  that  reason.  His  wife  was  a  daughter  of 
the  famous  harpsichordist  Valentin  Mirouët,  a  celebrated 
musician,  frail  and  delicate,  whom  the  Revolution  slew. 
Minoret  knew  Robespierre  intimately,  for  he  had  once 
been  instrumental  in  awarding  him  a  gold  medal  for  a 
dissertation   on  the  following  subject:  "What  is   the 


Ursula.  27 

origin  of  the  opinion  that  covers  a  whole  famil}'  with 
the  shame  attaching  to  the  public  punishment  of  a 
guilt}'  member  of  it?  Is  that  opinion  more  harmful 
than  useful?  If  yes,  in  what  way  can  the  harm  be 
warded  off."  The  Royal  Academ\^  of  Arts  and  Sci- 
ences at  Metz,  to  which  Minoret  belonged,  must  possess 
this  dissertation  in  the  original.  Though,  thanks  to  this 
friendship,  the  Doctor's  wife  need  have  had  no  fear,  she 
was  so  in  dread  of  going  to  the  scaffold  that  her  terror 
increased  a  disposition  to  heart  disease  caused  by  the 
over-sensitiveness  of  her  nature.  In  spite  of  all  the 
precautions  taken  b}'  the  man  who  idolized  her,  Ursula 
unfortunatel}'  met  the  tumbril  of  victims  among  whom 
was  Madame  Roland,  and  the  shock  caused  her  death. 
Minoret,  who  in  tenderness  to  his  wife  had  refused  her 
notliing,  and  had  given  her  a  life  of  luxur}-,  found  him- 
self after  her  death  almost  a  poor  man.  Robespierre 
gave  him  an  appointment  as  surgeon-in-charge  of  a 
hospital. 

Though  the  name  of  Minoret  obtained  during  the 
livclv  debates  to  which  mesmerism  gave  rise  a  certain 
celebrit}'  which  occasionalh'  recalled  him  to  the  minds 
of  his  relatives,  still  the  Revolution  was  so  great  a 
destroyer  of  family  relations  that  in  1813  Nemours 
knew  little  of  Doctor  Minoret,  who  was  induced  to 
think  of  returning  there  to  die,  like  the  hare  to  its  form, 
b}'  a  circumstance  that  was  wholl}'  accidental. 


28  Ursula. 

Who  has  not  felt  in  travelling  through  France,  where 
the  eye  is  often  wearied  by  the  monoton}'  of  plains,  the 
charming  sensation  of  coining  suddenly,  when  the  eye 
is  prepared  for  a  barren  landscape,  upon  a  fresh  cool 
vallc}',  watered  b}'  a  river,  with  a  little  town  sheltering 
beneath  a  cliff  like  a  swarm  of  bees  in  the  hollow  of 
an  old  willow?  Wakened  b}'  the  "  hu  !  hu  !  "  of  the 
postilion  as  he  walks  beside  his  horses,  we  shake  off 
sleep  and  admire,  like  a  dream  within  a  dream,  the 
beautiful  scene  which  is  to  the  traveller  what  a  noble 
passage  in  a  book  is  to  a  reader,  —  a  brilliant  thought 
of  Nature.  Such  is  the  sensation  caused  b}-  a  first 
sight  of  Nemours  as  we  approach  it  from  Burgundy. 
We  see  it  encircled  with  bare  rocks,  gra}',  black,  white, 
fantastic  in  shape  like  those  we  find  in  the  forest  of 
Fontainebleau  ;  from  them  spring  scattered  trees, 
clearlj'  defined  agaiust  the  sky,  which  give  to  this 
particular  rock  formation  the  dilapidated  look  of  a 
crumbling  wall.  Here  ends  the  long  wooded  hill 
which  creci)s  from  Nemours  to  Bouron,  skirting  the 
road.  At  the  bottom  of  this  irregular  amphitheatre 
lie  meadow-lands  through  which  flows  the  Loing,  form- 
ing sheets  of  water  with  man}'  falls.  This  delightful 
landscape,  which  continues  the  whole  wixy  to  Montargis, 
is  like  an  opera  scene,  for  its  eflTects  reall}'  seem  to  have 
been  studied. 

One   morning  Doctor  Minoret,    who  had  been   sum- 


Ursula.  2^ 

moned  into  Burgundy  by  a  rich  patient,  was  returning 
in  all  haste  to  Paris.  Not  having  mentioned  at  the 
last  relay  the  route  he  intended  to  take,  he  was  brought 
without  his  knowledge  through  Nemours,  and  beheld 
once  more,  on  waking  from  a  nap,  the  scenery  in  which 
his  childhood  had  been  passed.  He  had  lately  lost 
many  of  his  old  friends.  The  votary  of  the  Encyclo- 
pedists had  witnessed  the  conversion  of  La  Harpe  ; 
he  had  buried  Lebrun-Pindare  and  Marie-Joseph  de 
Chénier,  and  Morellet,  and  Madame  Helvetius.  He 
assisted  at  the  quasi-fall  of  Voltaire  when  assailed 
by  Geoffroy,  the  continuator  of  Frcron.  For  some 
time  past  he  had  thought  of  retiring,  and  so,  when 
his  post  chaise  stopped  at  the  head  of  the  Grand' 
Rue  of  Nemours,  his  heart  prompted  him  to  inquire 
for  his  family.  Minore t-Levrault,  the  post  master, 
came  forward  himself  to  see  the  doctor,  who  discov- 
ered him  to  be  the  son  of  his  eldest  brother.  The 
nephew  presented  the  doctor  to  his  wife,  the  only 
daughter  of  the  late  Levrault-Crémière,  who  had  died 
twelve  3'ears  earlier,  leaving  him  the  post  business  and 
the  finest  inn  in  Nemours. 

"Well,  nephew,"  said  the  doctor,  "have  I  any 
other  relatives  ?  " 

"  My  aunt  Minoret,  your  sister,  married  a  Massin- 
Massin  —  " 

"•  Yes,  I  know,  the  bailiff  of  Saint-Lange." 


30  Ursula. 

"  She  died  a  widow  leaving  an  only  daughter,  who 
has  lately  married  a  Crémière-Crémière,  a  fine  3'oung 
fellow,  still  without  a  place." 

"Ah!  she  is  my  own  niece.  Now,  as  my  brother, 
the  sailor,  died  a  bachelor,  and  Captain  Minoret  was 
killed  at  Monte-Legino,  and  here  am  I,  that  ends  the 
paternal  line.  Have  I  any  relations  on  the  maternal 
side?     My  mother  was  a  Jean-Massin-Levrault." 

"•Of  the  Jean-Massin-Levraults  there's  only  one 
left,"  answered  Minoret-Levrault,  "namely,  Jean-Mas- 
sin,  who  married  Monsieur  Crémière-Levrault-Dionis, 
a  purveyor  of  forage,  who  perished  on  tlie  scaffold. 
His  wife  died  of  despair  and  without  a  penny,  leaving 
one  daughter,  married  to  a  Levrault-Minoret,  a  farmer 
at  Montereau,  who  is  doing  well  ;  their  daughter  has 
just  married  a  Massin-Levrault,  notary's  clerk  at  Mon- 
targis,  wliere  his  father  is  a  locksmith." 

"So  I've  plent}'  of  heirs,"  said  the  doctor  gayly, 
immediatel}'  proposing  to  take  a  walk  through  Nemours 
accompanied  by  his  nephew. 

The  Loing  runs  tlirough  the  town  in  a  wavnig 
line,  banked  b}'  terraced  gardens  and  neat  houses,  the 
aspect  of  which  makes  one  fancy  that  happiness  must 
abide  there  sooner  tlian  elsewhere.  When  the  doctor 
turned  into  the  Rue  des  Bourgeois,  Minoret-Levrault 
pointed  out  the  property  of  LevraulL-Levrault,  a  rich 
iron  merchant  in  Paris  wlio,  he  said,  had  just  died. 


Ursula.  31 

"  The  pince  is  for  sale,  nncle,  and  a  veiy  prett}' 
house  it  is  ;  there  's  a  charming  garden  running  down 
to  tlic  river." 

"  Let  us  go  in,"  said  the  doctor,  seeing,  at  the 
farther  end  of  a  small  paA^ed  courtyard,  a  house  stand- 
ing between  the  walls  of  the  two  neighboring  bouses 
which  were  masked  by  clumps  of  trees  and  climbing- 
plants. 

"■  It  is  built  over  a  cellar,"  said  the  doctor,  going  up 
the  steps  of  a  high  portico  adorned  with  vases  of  blue 
and  white  pottery  in  which  geraniums  were  growing. 

Cut  in  two,  like  the  majorit}-  of  provincial  houses, 
by  a  long  passage  which  led  from  the  courtyard  to 
the  garden,  the  house  had  only  one  room  to  the  right, 
a  salon  lighted  b}'  four  windows,  two  on  the  courtyard 
and  two  on  the  garden  ;  but  Levrault-Levrault  had 
used  one  of  these  windows  to  make  an  entrance  to 
a  long  greenhouse  built  of  brick  which  extended  from 
the  salon  towards  the  river,  ending  in  a  horrible 
Chinese  pagoda. 

"Good!  by  building  a  roof  to  that  greenhouse 
and  laying  a  floor,"  said  old  Minoret,  "  I  could  put 
ni}'  books  there  and  make  a  very  comfortable  study 
of  that  extraordinary  bit  of  architecture  at  the  end." 

On  the  other  side  of  the  passage,  toward  the  garden, 
was  the  dining-room,  decorated  in  imitation  of  black 
lacquer  with   green    and   gold   flowers  ;    this  was  sep- 


32  Ursula. 

arated  from  the  kitchen  by  the  well  of  the  staircase. 
Communication  with  the  kitchen  was  had  through  a 
Uttle  pantry  built  behind  the  staircase,  the  kitchen 
itself  looking  into  the  eourtjard  through  windows  with 
iron  railings.  There  were  two  chambers  on  the  next 
flooi',  and  above  them,  attic  rooms  sheathed  in  wood, 
which  were  fairh'  habitable.  After  examining  the 
house  rapidly,  and  observing  that  it  was  covered 
with  trellises  fi'om  top  to  bottom,  on  the  side  of  the 
courtyard  as  well  as  on  that  to  the  garden,  —  wdiich 
ended  in  a  terrace  overlooking  the  river  and  adorned 
with  potteiy  vases,  —  the  doctor  remarked  :  — 

"  Levrault-Levrault  must  have  spent  a  good  deal 
of  money  here." 

*'Ho!  I  should  think  so,"  answered  Minoret- 
Levrault.  "  He  liked  flowers  —  nonsense!  '  What  do 
the}'  bring  in?'  sa3s  my  wife.  You  saw  inside  there 
how  an  artist  came  from  Paris  to  paint  flowers  iu 
fresco  in  the  corridor.  He  ]}\xi  those  enormous  mirrors 
everywhere.  The  ceilings  were  all  re-made  with  cor- 
nices which  cost  six  francs  a  foot.  The  dining-room 
floor  is  in  marquetiT  —  perfect  folh'  !  The  house  won't 
sell  for  a  penny  the  more." 

"Well,  nephew,  buy  it  for  me;  let  me  know  what 
you  do  about  it  ;  here 's  m}-  address.  The  rest  I 
leave  to  my  notary.  Who  lives  opposite?"  he  asked, 
as  thov  left  the  house. 


Ursula.  33 

"  Emigrés,"  answered  the  post  master,  "  named  Por- 
tend uc  re." 

The  house  once  bought,  the  iUuslrious  doctor, 
instead  of  living  there,  wrote  to  his  nephew  to  let 
it.  The  Folie-Levrault  was  therefore  occupied  bj  the 
notary  of  Nemours,  who  about  that  time  sold  his 
practice  to  Dionis,  his  liead-clerk,  and  died  two  years 
later,  leaving  the  house  on  the  doctor's  hands,  just 
at  the  time  when  the  fate  of  Napoleon  was  being 
decided  in  the  neigliborhood.  The  doctor's  heirs,  at 
first  misled,  had  by  this  time  decided  tliat  his  thought 
of  returning  to  his  native  place  was  merely'  a  rich 
man's  fancj',  and  that  probably  he  had  some  tie  in 
Paris  which  would  keep  him  there  and  cheat  them 
of  their  hoped-for  inheritance.  However,  Minoret- 
Levrault's  wife  seized  the  occasion  to  write  him  a 
letter.  The  old  man  replied  that  as  soon  as  peace 
was  signed,  the  roads  cleared  of  soldiers,  and  safe 
communication  established,  he  meant  to  go  and  live 
at  Nemours.  He  did,  in  fact,  put  in  an  appearance 
with  two  of  his  clients,  the  architect  of  his  hos- 
pital and  an  upholsterer,  who  took  charge  of  the  re- 
pairs, the  indoor  arrangements,  and  the  transportation 
of  the  furniture.  Madame  Minoret-Levrault  pro[)osud 
the  cook  of  the  late  notary  as  caretaker,  and  the 
woman  was  accepted. 

When  tlie  heirs  heard  that  their  uncle  and   great- 

3 


34  Ursula. 

uncle  Minoret  was  really-  coming  to  live  in  Nemours, 
the}'  were  seized  (in  spite  of  tiie  political  events  wliich 
were  just  then  weigliing  so  heavily  on  Brie  and  on 
the  Gatinais)  with  a  devouring  curiosit}-,  which  was 
not  surprising.  Was  he  rich?  Economical  or  spend- 
thrift? Would  he  leave  a  fine  fortune  or  nothing? 
Was  his  property  in  annuities?  In  the  end  they  found 
out  what  follows,  but  only  b^'  taking  infinite  pains 
and  employing  much  subterraneous  spying. 

After  the  death  of  his  wife,  Ursula  Mirouët,  and 
between  the  j-ears  1789  and  1813,  the  doctor  (who 
had  been  appointed  consulting  physician  to  the  Em- 
peror in  1805)  must  have  made  a  good  deal  of  money  ; 
but  no  one  knew  how  much.  He  lived  simply,  without 
other  extravagancies  than  a  carriage  by  the  year  and 
a  sumptuous  apartment.  He  received  no  guests  and 
dined  out  almost  ever}'  da}'.  His  housekeeper,  furious 
at  not  being  allowed  to  go  with  him  to  Nemours,  told 
Zclie  Levrault,  the  post  master's  .wife,  that  she  knew 
the  doctor  had  fourteen  thousand  francs  a  year  on  the 
"  grand-livre."  Now,  after  twenty  years'  exercise  of 
a  profession  which  his  position  as  head  of  a  hospital, 
physician  to  the  Emperor,  and  member  of  the  Institute, 
rendered  lucrative,  these  fourteen  thousand  francs 
a  year  showed  only  one  hundred  and  sixty  thousand 
francs  laid  by.  To  have  saved  only  eight  thousand 
francs  a  year  the  doctor  must  have  had    either  many 


Ursula.  35 

vices  or  many  virtues  to  gratif)-.  But  neither  his 
housekeeper  nor  Zéhe  nor  an}'  one  else  could  discover 
the  reason  for  such  moderate  means.  Minoret,  who 
when  he  left  it  was  much  regretted  in  the  quarter  of 
Paris  where  he  had  lived,  was  one  of  the  most  benev- 
olent of  men,  and,  like  Larrej-,  ke[)t  his  kind  deeds 
a  profound  secret. 

The  heirs  watched  the  arrival  of  their  uncle's  fine 
furniture  and  large  librar}-  with  complacency,  and  looked 
forward  to  his  own  coming,  he  being  now  an  ofticer  of 
the  Legion  of  honor,  and  lately  appointed  by  the  king 
a  chevalier  of  the  order  of  Saint-Michel  —  perhaps  on 
account  of  his  retirement,  which  left  a  vacancy  for  some 
favorite.  But  when  the  architect  and  painter  and  up- 
holsterer had  ari'anged  everything  in  the  most  comfort- 
able manner,  the  doctor  did  not  come.  Madame 
Minoret-Levrault,  who  kept  an  ej-e  on  the  upholsterer 
and  architect  as  if  her  own  property  was  concerned, 
found  out,  through  the  indiscretion  of  a  young  man  sent 
to  arrange  the  books,  that  the  doctor  was  taking  care 
of  a  little  orphan  named  Ursula.  The  news  flew  like 
wild-fire  through  the  town.  At  last,  however,  towards 
the  middle  of  the  month  of  January,  1815,  the  old  man 
actually  arrived,  installing  himself  quietly,  almost  slyly, 
with  a  little  girl  about  ten  months  old,  and  a  nurse. 

"The  child  can't  be  his  daughter,"  said  the  terrified 
heirs  ;  "he  is  seventy-one  years  old." 


36  Ursula. 

"  Whoever  she  is,"  remarked  Madame  Massin, 
"she '11  give  us  plenty  of  tintouin"  (a  word  peculiar 
to  Nemours,  meaning  uneasiness,  anxietj-,  or  more  lit- 
eralh',  tingling  in  the  ears). 

The  doctor  received  his  great-niece  on  the  mother's 
side  somewhat  coldl}'  ;  her  husband  had  just  bought  the 
place  of  clerk  of  the  court,  and  the  pair  began  at  once 
to  tell  him  of  their  difficulties.  Neither  Massin  nor 
his  wife  were  rich.  Massin's  father,  a  locksmith  at 
Montargis,  had  been  obliged  to  compromise  with  his 
creditors,  and  was  now,  at  sixty -seven  j'ears  of  age, 
working  like  a  young  man,  and  had  nothing  to  leave 
behind  hnn.  Madame  Massin's  father,  Levrault-Min- 
orct,  had  just  died  at  Montereau  after  the  battle,  in 
despair  at  seeing  his  farm  burned,  his  fields  ruined, 
his  cattle  slaughtered. 

"  We  shall  get  nothing  out  of  your  great-uncle,"  said 
Massin  to  his  wife,  now  pregnant  with  her  second  child, 
after  the  interview. 

The  doctor,  however,  gave  them  privatel}^  ten  thou- 
sand francs,  with  which  Massin,  who  was  a  great  friend 
of  the  notary  and  of  the  sheriff,  began  the  business  of 
money-lending,  and  carried  matters  so  briskly  with  the 
peasantry  that  b}^  the  time  of  which  we  are  now  writing 
Goupil  knew  him  to  hold  at  least  eighty  thousand  frajics 
on  their  property. 

As  to  his  other  niece,  the  doctor   obtained  for  her 


Ursuia.  37 

husband,  through  his  influence  in  Paris,  the  collector- 
ship  of  Nemours,  and  became  his  bondsman.  Though 
Minoret-Levrault  needed  no  assistance,  Zélie,  his  wife, 
being  jealous  of  the  uncle's  liberality  to  his  two  nieces, 
took  her  ten-year  old  son  to  see  him,  and  talked  of  the 
expense  he  would  be  to  them  at  a  school  in  Paris, 
where,  she  said,  education  costs  so  much.  The  doctor 
obtained  a  half-scholarship  for  his  great-nephew  at  the 
school  of  Louis-le-Grand,  where  Desire  was  put  into  the 
fourth  class. 

Crémière,  Massin,  and  Minoret-Levrault,  extremely 
common  persons,  were  "  rated  without  appeal  "  by  the 
doctor  within  two  months  of  his  arrival  in  Nemours, 
during  which  time  the}-  courted,  less  their  uncle  than 
his  property.  Persons  who  are  led  by  instinct  have  one 
great  disadvantage  against  others  with  ideas.  The}'  are 
quick!}-  found  out  ;  the  suggestions  of  instinct  are  too 
natural,  too  open  to  the  eye  not  to  be  seen  at  a  glance  ; 
whereas,  the  conceptions  of  the  mind  require  an  equal 
amount  of  intellect  to  discover  them.  After  buying  tlie 
gratitude  of  his  heirs,  and  thus,  as  it  were,  shutting 
their  mouths,  the  wily  doctor  made  a  pretext  of  his  oc- 
cupations, his  habits,  and  the  care  of  the  little  Ursula 
to  avoid  receiving  his  relatives  without  exactly  closing 
his  doors  to  them.  He  lilied  to  dine  alone  ;  he  went  to 
bed  late  and  he  got  up  late  ;  he  had  returned  to  his 
native  place  for  the  very  purpose  of  finding  rest  in  soli- 


88  Ursula. 

tude.  These  whims  of  an  old  man  seemed  to  be  natural, 
and  his  relatives  contented  themselves  with  paying  him 
weeklj'  visits  on  Sundays  from  one  to  four  o'clock,  to 
which,  however,  he  tried  to  put  a  stop  b}-  saying  : 
"  Don't  come  and  see  me  unless  you  want  something." 

The  doctor,  while  not  refusing  to  be  called  in  consul- 
tation over  serious  cases,  especially  if  the  patients  were 
indigent,  would  not  serve  as  physician  in  the  little  hos- 
pital of  Nemours,  and  declared  that  he  no  longer  prac- 
tised his  profession. 

"  I  'vc  killed  enough  people,"  he  said,  laughing,  to  the 
Abbé  Chaperon,  who,  knowing  his  benevolence,  would 
often  get  him  to  attend  the  poor. 

"  He's  an  original  !  "  These  words,  said  of  Doctor 
Minoret,  were  the  harmless  revenge  of  various  wounded 
vanities  ;  for  a  doctor  collects  about  him  a  society  of 
persons  who  have  raanj'  of  the  characteristics  of  a  set 
of  heirs.  Those  of  the  bourgeoisie  who  thought  them- 
selves entitled  to  visit  this  distinguished  physician  kept 
up  a  ferment  of  jealousy  against  the  few  privileged 
friends  whom  he  did  admit  to  his  intimac}',  which  had 
in  the  long  run  some  unfortunate  results. 


Ursula.  39 


III. 

THE   DOCTOR'S   FRIENDS. 

Curiously  enough,  though  it  explains  the  old  pro- 
verb that  "extremes  meet,"  the  materialistic  doctor 
and  the  curé  of  Nemours  were  soon  friends.  The  old 
man  loved  backgammon,  a  favorite  game  of  the  priest- 
hood, and  the  Abbé  Chaperon  played  it  with  about  as 
much  skill  as  he  himself.  The  game  was  the  first  tie 
between  them.  Then  Minoret  was  charitable,  and  the 
abbé  was  the  Fénelon  of  tlie  Gâtinais.  Both  had  had 
a  wide  and  varied  education  ;  the  man  of  God  was  the 
only  person  in  all  Nemours  who  was  fully  capable  of 
understanding  the  atheist.  To  be  able  to  argue,  men 
must  first  understand  each  other.  What  pleasure  is 
there  in  saying  sharp  words  to  one  who  can't  feel  them  ? 
The  doctor  and  the  priest  had  far  too  much  taste  and 
had  seen  too  much  of  good  society  not  to  practice  its 
precepts  ;  they  were  thus  well-fitted  for  the  little  war- 
fare so  essential  to  conversation.  Thev'  hated  each 
other's  opinions,  but  they  valued  each  other's  character. 
If  such  conflicts  and  such  sympathies  are  not  true 
elements  of  intimacy  we  must  surely  despair  of  societ}', 
,  whicli,   especially   in    France,   requires   some    form   of 


40  Ursula. 

antagonism.  It  is  from  the  shock  of  characters,  and 
not  from  the  struggle  of  opinions,  tliat  antipathies  are 
generated. 

The  Abbé  Chaperon  became,  therefore,  the  doctor's 
chief  friend.  This  excellent  ecclesiastic,  then  sixty 
3"ears  of  age,  had  been  curate  of  Nemours  ever  since 
the  re-establishment  of  Catholic  worship.  Out  of  at- 
tachment to  his  flock  he  had  refused  the  vicariat  of  the 
diocese.  If  those  who  were  indifferent  to  religion 
thought  well  of  him  for  so  doing,  the  faithful  loved  him 
the  more  for  it.  So,  revered  b}-  his  sheep,  respected 
by  the  inhabitants  at  large,  the  abbé  did  good  witliout 
inquiring  into  the  religious  opinions  of  those  he  bene- 
fited. His  parsonage,  with  scared}'  furniture  enough 
for  the  common  needs  of  life,  was  cold  and  shabby,  like 
the  lodging  of  a  miser.  Charity  and  avarice  mani- 
fest themselves  in  the  same  way  ;  charity  lays  up  a 
treasure  in  heaven  which  avarice  la3s  up  on  earth. 
The  Abbé  Chaperon  argued  with  his  servant  over  ex- 
penses even  more  shai'ply  than  Gobseck  witli  his  — 
if  indeed  that  famous  Jew  kept  a  servant  at  all.  Tlie 
good  priest  often  sold  the  buckles  off  his  slioes  and 
his  breeclies  to  give  their  value  to  some  poor  person 
who  appealed  to  him  at  a  moment  wlien  he  had  not  a 
penny.  AVhen  he  was  seen  coming  out  of  churcli 
with  the  straps  of  his  breeches  tied  into  the  button- 
holes, devout  women  would  redeem   the   buckles   from. 


Ursula.  41 

the  clock-maker  and  jeweller  of  the  town  and  return 
them  to  their  pastor  with  a  lecture.  He  never  bought 
himself  any  clothes  or  linen,  and  wore  his  garments 
till  they  scarcely  held  together.  His  linen,  thick  with 
darns,  rubbed  his  skin  like  a  hair  shirt.  Madame  de 
Portenduère,  and  other  good  souls,  had  an  agreement 
with  his  housekeeper  to  replace  the  old  clolhes  with 
new  ones  after  he  went  to  sleep,  and  the  abbé  did  not 
always  find  out  the  difference.  He  ate  his  food  off 
pewter  with  iron  forks  and  spoons.  When  he  received 
his  assistants  and  sub-curates  on  days  of  high  solem- 
nity (an  expense  obligatorv  on  the  heads  of  parishes) 
he  borrowed  linen  and  silver  from  his  friend  the  atheist. 

"  M3'  silver  is  his  salvation,"  the  doctor  would  say. 

These  noble  deeds,  always  accompanied  by  spiritual 
encouragement,  were  done  with  a  beautiful  naïveté. 
Such  a  life  was  all  the  more  meritorious  because  the 
abbé  was  possessed  of  an  erudition  that  was  vast  and 
varied,  and  of  great  and  precious  faculties.  Delicacy 
and  grace,  the  inseparable  accompannnents  of  simpli- 
city, lent  charm  to  an  elocution  that  was  worthy  of  a 
prelate.  His  manners,  his  character,  and  his  habits 
gave  to  his  intercourse  with  others  the  exquisite  savor 
of  all  that  is  most  spiritual,  most  sincere  in  tlie  human 
mind.  A  lover  of  gayety,  he  was  never  priest  in  a 
salon.  Until  Doctor  IVÏinoret's  arrival,  tlie  good  man 
kept  his  light  under  a  bushel  without  regret.     Owning 


42  Ursula. 

a  rather  fine  library  and  an  income  of  two  thousand 
francs  when  he  came  to  Nemours,  he  now  possessed,  in 
1829,  nothing  at  all,  except  his  stipend  as  parish  priest, 
nearly  the  whole  of  which  he  gave  away  during  the 
year.  The  giver  of  excellent  counsel  in  delicate  mat- 
ters or  in  great  misfortunes,  many  persons  who  never 
went  to  church  to  obtain  consolation  went  to  the  par- 
sonage to  get  advice.  One  little  anecdote  will  suffice 
to  complete  his  portrait.  Sometimes  the  peasants,  — 
rarely,  it  is  true,  but  occasionall}-,  —  unprincipled  men, 
would  tell  him  they  were  sued  for  debt,  or  would  get 
themselves  threatened  fictitioush'  to  stimulate  the  abbe's 
benevolence.  They  would  even  deceive  their  wives, 
who,  believing  their  -chattels  were  threatened  with  an 
execution  and  their  cows  seized,  deceived  in  their  turn 
the  poor  priest  with  their  innocent  tears.  He  would 
then  manage  with  great  difficulty  to  provide  the  seven 
or  eight  hundred  francs  demanded  of  him  —  with  which 
the  peasant  bought  himself  a  morsel  of  land.  When 
pious  persons  and  vestrymen  denounced  the  fraud, 
begging  the  abbé  to  consult  them  in  future  before 
lending  himself  to  such  cupidity,  he  would  sa}':  — 

"But  suppose  they  had  done  something  wrong  to 
obtain  their  bit  of  land?  Isn't  it  doing  good  when 
we  prevent  evil?  " 

Some  persons  may  wish  for  a  sketch  of  this  figure, 
remarkable  for  the  fact  that  science  and  literature  had 


Ursula.  43 

filled  the  heart  and  passed  through  the  strong  head 
without  corrupting  either.  At  sixty  3-ears  of  age  the 
abbe's  hair  was  white  as  snow,  so  keenl}'  did  he  feel 
the  sorrows  of  others,  and  so  heavily  had  the  events  of 
the  Revolution  weighed  on  him.  Twice  incarcerated  for 
refusing  to  take  the  oath  he  had  twice,  as  he  used  to 
say,  uttered  his  In  manns.  He  was  of  medium  height, 
neither  stout  nor  thin.  His  face,  much  wrinkled  and 
hollowed  and  quite  colorless,  attracted  immediate  at- 
tention by  the  absolute  tranquillit3'  expressed  in  its 
shape,  and  b}"  the  purit}'  of  its  outline,  which  seemed 
to  be  edged  with  light.  The  face  of  a  chaste  man  has 
an  unspeakable  radiance.  Brown  eyes  with  lively 
pupils  brightened  the  irregular  features,  which  were 
surmounted  by  a  broad  forehead.  His  glance  wielded 
a  power  which  came  of  a  gentleness  that  was  not  de- 
void of  strength.  The  arches  of  his  brow  foi-med 
caverns  shaded  by  huge  graj*  e3'ebrows  which  alarmed 
no  one.  As  most  of  his  teeth  were  gone  his  mouth 
had  lost  its  shape  and  his  cheeks  had  fallen  in  ;  but 
this  physical  destruction  was  not  without  charm  ;  even 
the  wi'inkles,  full  of  pleasantness,  seemed  to  smile  on 
others.  Without  being  gouty  his  feet  were  tender  ; 
and  he  walked  with  so  much  difficulty  that  he  wore 
shoes  made  of  calfs  skin  all  the  3ear  round.  He 
thought  the  fashion  of  trousers  unsuitable  for  priests, 
and  he  alwaj's  appeared  in  stockings  of  coarse  black 


44  Ursula. 

'yarn,  knit  by  his  housekeeper,  and  cloth  breeches.  He 
never  went  out  in  his  cassoclv,  but  wore  a  brown  OA'cr- 
coat,  and  still  retained  the  three-cornered  hat  he  had 
worn  so  courageous^  in  times  of  danger.  This  noble 
and  beautiful  old  man,  whose  face  was  glorified  b}^  the 
serenity  of  a  soul  above  reproach,  will  be  found  to  have 
so  great  an  influence  upon  the  men  and  things  of  this 
historj',  tliat  it  was  proper  to  show  the  sources  of  his 
authoi'ity  and  power. 

Minoret  took  three  newspapers,  —  one  liberal,  one 
ministerial,  one  ultra,  —  a  few  periodicals,  and  certain 
scientific  journals,  the  accumulation  of  which  swelled 
his  library'.  The  newspapers,  encj'clopîedias,  and  books 
were  an  attraction  to  a  retired  captain  of  the  Royal- 
Swedish  regiment,  named  Monsieur  de  Jord}',  a  Vol- 
tairean  nobleman  and  an  old  bachelor,  who  lived  on 
sixteen  hundred  francs  of  pension  and  annuity  com- 
bined. Having  read  the  gazettes  for  several  da3'S,  by 
favor  of  the  abbé.  Monsieur  de  Jordy  thought  it 
proper  to  call  and  thank  the  doctor  in  person.  At 
this  first  visit  the  old  captain,  formerly  a  professor 
at  the  Mihtarj'  Academy,  won  the  doctor's  heart, 
who  returned  the  call  with  alacrity.  Monsieur  de 
Jordy,  a  spare  little  man  much  troubled  by  his  blood, 
though  his  face  was  very  pale,  attracted  attention  by 
the  resemblance  of  his  handsome  brow  to  that  of 
Charles  XII.  ;  above  it  he  kept  his  hair  cropped  short, 


Ursula.  45 

like  that  of  the  soldier-king.  His  blue  eyes  seemed 
to  sa}'  that  "  Love  had  passed  that  wa}^"  so  mourn- 
ful were  they  ;  revealing  memories  about  whicli  he  kept 
such  utter  silence  that  his  old  friends  never  detected 
even  an  allusion  to  his  past  life,  nor  a  single  exclama- 
tion drawn  forth  by  similarity  of  circumstances.  He 
hid  the  painful  mj'stery  of  his  past  beneath  a  phil- 
osophic gayety,  but  when  he  thought  himself  alone 
his  motions,  stiffened  b}'  a  slowness  which  was  more 
a  matter  of  choice  than  the  result  of  old  age,  betrayed 
the  constant  pi'esence  of  distressful  thoughts.  The 
Abbé  Chaperon  called  him  a  Christian  ignorant  of  his 
Christianity.  Dressed  always  in  blue  cloth,  his  rather 
rigid  demeanor  and  his  clothes  bespoke  the  old  habits 
of  military  discipline.  His  sweet  and  harmonious  voice 
stirred  the  soul.  His  beautiful  hands  and  the  general 
cut  of  his  figure,  recalling  that  of  the  Comte  d'Artois, 
showed  how  charming  he  must  have  been  in  his  3'outh, 
and  made  the  mystery  of  his  life  still  more  mysterious. 
An  observer  asked  involuntarilj'  what  misfortune  had 
blighted  such  beauty,  courage,  grace,  accomplishment, 
and  all  the  precious  qualities  of  the  heart  once  united 
in  his  person.  Monsieur  de  Jordy  shuddered  if  Robes- 
pierre's name  were  uttered  before  him.  He  took  much 
snuff,  but,  strange  to  say,  he  gave  up  the  habit  to  please 
little  Ursula,  who  at  first  showed  a  dislike  to  him  on 
that  account.     As  soon  as  he  saw  the  little  girl  the 


46  Ursula. 

captain  fastened  bis  e^'es  upon  her  with  a  look  that 
was  almost  passionate.  He  loved  her  play  so  extrava- 
gantl}'  and  took  such  interest  in  all  she  did  that  the 
tie  between  himself  and  the  doctor  grew  closer  every 
day,  though  the  latter  never  dared  to  say  to  him, 
"  You,  too,  have  j'ou  lost  children?  "  There  are  beings, 
kind  and  patient  as  old  Jord}-,  who  pass  through  life 
with  a  bitter  thought  in  their  heart  and  a  tender  but 
sorrowful  smile  on  their  lips,  carrying  with  them  to 
the  grave  the  secret  of  their  lives  ;  letting  no  one  guess 
it,  —  through  pride,  through  disdain,  possiblj-  through 
revenge  ;  confiding  in  none  but  God,  without  other 
consolation  than  his. 

Monsieur  de  Jordy,  like  the  doctor,  had  come  to  die 
in  Nemours,  but  he  knew  no  one  except  the  abbé,  who 
was  alwaj's  at  the  beck  and  call  of  his  parishioners, 
and  Madame  de  Portenduère,  who  went  to  bed  at  nine 
o'clock.  So,  much  against  his  will,  he  too  had  taken 
to  going  to  bed  earl}-,  in  spite  of  the  thorns  that  beset 
his  pillow.  It  was  therefore  a  great  piece  of  good- 
fortune  for  him  (as  well  as  for  the  doctor)  when  he 
encountered  a  man  who  had  known  the  same  world  and 
spoken  the  same  language  as  himself;  with  whom  he 
could  exchange  ideas,  and  who  went  to  bed  late.  After 
Monsieur  de  Jordy,  the  Abbé  Chaperon,  and  Minoret 
had  passed  one  evening  together  they  found  so  much 
pleasure  in  it  that  the  priest  and  soldier  returned  every 


Ursula,  47 

night  regularly  at  nine  o'clock,  the  hour  at  which,  little 
Ursula  having  gone  to  bed,  the  doctor  was  free.  All 
three  would  then  sit  up  till  midnight  or  one  o'clock. 

After  a  time  this  trio  became  a  quartette.  Another 
man  to  whom  life  was  known,  and  who  owed  to  his 
practical  training  as  a  lawyer,  the  indulgence,  knowl- 
edge, observation,  shrewdness,  and  talent  for  conversa- 
tion which  the  soldier,  doctor,  and  priest  owed  to  their 
practical  dealings  with  the  souls,  diseases,  and  educa- 
tion of  men,  was  added  to  the  number.  Monsieur 
Bongrand,  the  justice  of  peace,  heard  of  the  pleasure 
of  these  evenings  and  sought  admittance  to  the  doctor's 
societ}'.  Before  becoming  justice  of  peace  at  Nemours 
he  had  been  for  ten  years  a  solicitor  at  Melun,  where 
he  conducted  his  own  cases,  according  to  the  custom  of 
small  towns,  where  there  are  no  barristers.  He  became 
a  widower  at  forty-five  years  of  age,  but  felt  himself 
still  too  active  to  lead  an  idle  life  ;  he  therefore  sought 
and  obtained  the  position  of  justice  of  peace  at  Ne- 
mours, which  became  vacant  a  few  months  before  the 
arrival  of  Doctor  Minoret.  Monsieur  Bongrand  lived 
modestly  on  his  salary  of  fifteen  hundred  francs,  in 
order  that  he  might  devote  his  private  income  to  his 
son,  who  was  studying  law  in  Paris  under  the  famous 
Derville.  He  bore  some  resemblance  to  a  retired  chief 
of  a  civil  service  office  ;  he  had  the  peculiar  face  of  a 
bureaucrat,  less  sallow  than  pallid,  on  which  public  busi- 


48  Ursula. 

ness,  vexations,  and  disgust  leave  their  imprint,  —  a  face 
lined  by  thought,  and  also  by  the  continual  restraints 
familiar  to  those  who  are  trained  not  to  speak  their 
minds  freely.  It  was  often  illumined  by  smiles  charac- 
teristic of  men  who  alternatel}^  believe  all  and  believe 
nothing,  who  are  accustomed  to  see  and  hear  all  without 
being  startled,  and  to  fathom  the  abj'sses  which  self- 
interest  hollows  in  the  depths  of  the  human  heart. 

Below  the  hair,  which  was  less  white  than  discolored, 
and  worn  flattened  to  the  head,  was  a  fine,  sagacious 
forehead,  the  yellow  tones  of  which  harmonized  well  with 
the  scanty  tufts  of  thin  hair.  His  face,  with  the  features 
set  close  together,  bore  some  likeness  to  that  of  a  fox, 
all  the  more  because  his  nose  was  short  and  pointed. 
In  speaking,  he  spluttered  at  the  mouth,  which  was 
broad  like  those  of  most  great  talkers,  — a  habit  which 
led  Goupil  to  say,  ill-naturedly,  "  An  umbrella  would  be 
useful  when  listening  to  him,"  or,  "  The  justice  rains 
verdicts."  His  eyes  looked  keen  behind  his  spectacles, 
but  if  he  took  the  glasses  off  his  dulled  glance  seemed 
almost  vacant.  Though  he  was  naturall}'  gay,  even 
jovial,  he  was  apt  to  give  himself  too  important  and 
pompous  an  air.  He  usually  kept  his  hands  in  the 
pockets  of  his  trousers,  and  only  took  them  out  to 
settle  his  eye-glasses  on  his  nose,  with  a  movement  that 
was  half  comic,  and  which  announced  tlio  coming  of  a 
keen   ol)scrvation  or   some   victorious  aro-ument.     His 


Ursula.  49 

gestures,  his  loquacity-,  his  innocent  self-assertion,  pro- 
claimed the  provincial  lawj'er.  These  slight  defects 
were,  however,  superficial  ;  he  redeemed  them  by  an 
exquisite  kind-heartedness  which  a  rigid  moralist  might 
call  the  indulgence  natural  to  superiority.  He  looked  a 
little  like  a  fox,  and  he  was  thought  to  be  ver}-  wil}',  but 
never  false  or  dishonest.  His  wiliness  was  perspi- 
cacity' ;  and  consisted  in  foreseeing  results  and  pro- 
tecting himself  and  others  from  the  traps  set  for  them. 
He  loved  whist,  a  game  known  to  the  captain  and  the 
doctor,  and  which  the  abbé  learned  to  play  in  a  ver}' 
short  time. 

This  little  circle  of  friends  made  for  itself  an  oasis  in 
Minoret's  salon.  The  doctor  of  Nemours,  who  was 
not  without  education  and  knowledge  of  the  world,  and 
who  greatly  respected  Minoret  as  an  honor  to  the  pro- 
fession, came  there  sometimes  ;  but  his  duties  and  also 
his  fatigue  (which  obliged  him  to  go  to  bed  earl}'  and 
to  be  up  early)  prevented  his  being  as  assiduously  pres- 
ent as  the  three  other  friends.  This  intercoiu'se  of  five 
superior  men,  the  only  ones  in  Nemours  who  had  suffi- 
ciently wide  knowledge  to  understand  each  other,  ex- 
plains old  Minoret's  aversion  to  his  relatives  ;  if  he 
were  compelled  to  leave  them  his  mone}',  at  least  he 
need  not  admit  them  to  his  society.  Whether  the  post 
master,  the  sheriff,  and  the  collector  understood  this 
distinction,  or  whether  they  were  reassured  by  the  evi- 

4 


60  Ursula. 

dent  lo3'alty  and  the  benefactions  of  their  uncle,  certain 
it  is  that  they  ceased,  to  his  great  satisfaction,  to  see 
much  of  him.  So,  about  eight  months  after  the  arrival 
of  the  doctor  these  four  players  of  whist  and  back- 
gammon made  a  solid  and  exclusive  little  world  which 
was  to  each  a  fraternal  aftermath,  an  unlooked  for  fine 
season,  the  gentle  pleasures  of  which  were  the  more 
enjoyed.  This  little  circle  of  choice  spirits  closed 
round  Ursula,  a  child  whom  each  adopted  according  to 
his  individual  tendencies  ;  the  abbé  thought  of  her  soul, 
the  judge  imagined  himself  her  guardian,  the  soldier 
intended  to  be  her  teacher,  and  as  for  Minoret,  he  was 
father,  mother,  and  physician,  all  in  one. 

After  he  became  acclimated  old  Minoret  settled 
into  certain  habits  of  life,  under  fixed  rules,  after  the 
manner  of  the  provinces.  On  Ursula's  account  he  re- 
ceived no  visitors  in  the  morning,  and  never  gave  din- 
ners ;  but  his  friends  were  at  liberty  to  conic  to  his 
house  at  six  o'clock  and  stay  till  midnight.  The  first- 
comers  found  the  newspapers  on  the  table  and  read 
them  while  awaiting  the  rest  ;  or  they  sometimes  sallied 
forth  to  meet  the  doctor  if  he  were  out  for  a  walk.  This 
tranquil  life  was  not  a  mere  necessit}'  of  old  age,  it  was 
the  wise  and  careful  scheme  of  a  man  of  the  world  to 
keep  his  happiness  untroubled  by  the  curiosity  of  his 
heirs  and  the  gossip  of  a  litlle  town.  He  yielded  notli- 
iiig  to  tliat  capricious  goddess,   public  o[)iniou,  wliose 


Ursula.  51 

tyranny  (one  of  the  present  great  evils  of  France)  was 
just  beginning  to  establish  its  power  and  to  make  the 
whole  nation  a  mere  province.  So,  as  soon  as  the  child 
was  weaned  and  could  walk  alone,  the  doctor  sent  awa^' 
the  housekeeper  whom  his  niece,  Madame  Minoret- 
Levrault  had  chosen  for  him,  having  discovered  that  she 
told  her  patroness  everything  that  happened  in  his 
household. 

Ursula's  nurse,  the  widow  of  a  poor  workman  (who 
possessed  no  name  but  a  baptismal  one,  and  who  came 
from  Bougival)  had  lost  her  last  child,  aged  six  months, 
just  as  the  doctor,  who  knew  her  to  be  a  good  and  hon- 
est creature,  engaged  her  as  wetnurse  for  Ursula. 
Antoinette  Patris  (her  maiden  name),  widow  of  Pierre, 
called  Le  Bougival,  attached  herself  naturally  to  Ur- 
sula, as  wetnurses  do  to  their  nurslings.  This  blind 
maternal  affection  was  accompanied  in  this  instance 
by  household  devotion.  Told  of  the  doctor's  intention 
to  send  away  his  housekeeper.  La  Bougival  secretly 
learned  to  cook,  became  neat  and  handj',  and  discovered 
the  old  man's  waj-s.  She  took  the  utmost  care  of  the 
house  and  furniture  ;  in  short  she  was  indefatigable. 
Not  only  did  the  doctor  wish  to  keep  his  private  life 
within  four  walls,  as  the  saying  is,  but  he  also  had  cer- 
tain reasons  for  hiding  a  knowledge  of  his  business  af- 
fairs from  his  relatives.  At  the  end  of  tlie  second  year 
after  his  arrival  La  Bougival  was  the  onl^-  servant  in 


52  Ursula. 

the  house  ;  on  her  discretion  he  knew  he  could  count, 
and  he  disguised  his  real  purposes  by  the  all-powerful 
open  reason  of  a  necessary  econoni}'.  To  the  great  sat- 
isfaction of  his  heirs  he  became  a  miser.  Without 
fawning  or  wheedling,  solel}'  hy  the  influence  of  her  de- 
votion and  solicitude,  La  Bougival,  who  was  forty-three 
3-ears  old  at  the  time  this  tale  begins,  was  the  house- 
keeper of  the  doctor  and  his  protegee,  the  pivot  on 
which  the  whole  house  turned,  in  short,  the  confidential 
servant.  She  was  called  La  Bougival  from  the  admitted 
impossibilit}"  of  appl3ing  to  her  person  the  name  that 
actuallj'  belonged  to  her,  Antoinette  —  for  names  and 
forms  do  obe^'  the  laws  of  harmon}'. 

The  doctor's  miserliness  was  not  mere  talk  ;  it  was 
real,  and  it  had  an  object.  From  the  year  1817  he  cut 
off  two  of  his  newspapers  and  ceased  subscribing  to 
periodicals.  His  annual  expenses,  which  all  Nemours 
could  estimate,  did  not  exceed  eighteen  hundred  francs 
a  3'ear.  Like  most  old  men  his  wants  in  linen,  boots, 
and  clothing,  were  ver}'  few.  Every  six  months  he 
went  to  Paris,  no  doubt  to  draw  and  reinvest  his  income. 
In  fifteen  3'ears  he  never  said  a  single  word  to  any  o\w. 
in  relation  to  his  affairs.  His  confidence  in  Bongiand 
was  of  slow  growth  ;  it  was  not  until  after  the  révolu  ■ 
tion  of  1830  that  he  told  him  of  his  projects.  Nothing 
further  was  known  of  the  doctor's  life  either  b}'  tlie 
bourgeoisie  at  large  or  by  his  heirs.     As  for  his  political 


Ursula.  53 

opinions,  lie  did  not  meddle  in  public  matters  seeing 
that  he  paid  less  than  a  hundred  francs  a  year  in  taxes, 
and  refused,  impartially,  to  subscribe  to  either  royalist 
or  liberal  demands.  His  known  horror  for  the  priest- 
hood, and  his  deism  were  so  little  obtrusive  that  he 
turned  out  of  his  house  a  commercial  runner  sent 
by  his  great-nephew  Desire  to  ask  a  subscription  to  the 
"  Curé  Meslier  "  and  the.  "  Discours  du  General  F03'." 
Such  tolerance  seemed  inexplicable  to  the  liberals  of 
Nemours. 

The  doctor's  three  collateral  heirs,  Minoret-Levrault 
and  his  wife.  Monsieur  and  Madame  Massin-Levrault, 
junior.  Monsieur  and  Madame  Crémière-Crémière  — 
whom  we  shall  in  future  call  simply  Crémière,  Massin, 
and  Minoret,  because  these  distinctions  among  homo- 
n3'ms  is  quite  unnecessary  out  of  the  Gâtinais — met 
together  as  people  do  in  little  towns.  The  post  master 
gave  a  grand  dinner  on  his  son's  birthday,  a  ball  during 
the  carnival,  another  on  the  anniversary' of  his  marriage, 
to  all  of  which  he  invited  the  whole  bourgeoisie  of  Ne- 
mours. The  collector  received  his  relations  and  friends 
twice  a  year.  The  clerk  of  the  court,  too  poor,  he  said, 
to  fling  himself  into  such  extravagance,  lived  in  a  small 
wa}-  in  a  house  standing  half-wa}'  down  the  Grand'Rue, 
the  ground -floor  of  which  was  let  to  his  sister,  the  letter- 
postmistress  of  Nemours,  a  situation  she  owed  to  tlie 
doctor's    kind  offices.     Nevertheless,  in  the  course  of 


54  Ursula. 

the  year  these  three  families  did  meet  together  fre- 
quently, in  the  houses  of  friends,  in  the  public  prome- 
nades, at  the  market,  on  their  doorsteps,  or,  of  a  Sunday 
in  the  square,  as  on  this  occasion  ;  so  that  one  way  and 
another  they  met  nearly  every  da}-.  For  the  last  three 
years  the  doctor's  age,  his  economies,  and  his  probable 
wealth  had  led  to  allusions,  or  frank  remarks,  among 
the  townspeople  as  to  the  disposition  of  his  property, 
a  topic  which  made  the  doctor  and  his  heirs  of  deep 
interest  to  the  little  town.  For  the  last  six  months 
not  a  daj'  passed  that  friends  and  neighbors  did  not 
speak  to  the  heirs,  with  secret  env}-,  of  the  day  the 
good  man's  e3'es  would  shut  and  the  coffers  open. 

"  Doctor  Minoret  may  be  an  able  physician,  on 
good  terms  with  death,  but  none  but  God  is  eternal," 
said  one. 

"Pooh,  he'll  bur}'  us  all;  his  health  is  better  than 
ours,"  replied  an  heir,  hypocritically. 

"Well,  if  j'ou  don't  get  the  mone}'  3-ourselves,  3'our 
children  will,  unless  that  little  Ursula  —  " 

"  He  won't  leave  it  all  to  her." 

Ursula,  as  Madame  Massin  had  predicted,  was  the 
bete  noire  of  the  relations,  their  sword  of  Damocles  ; 
and  Madame  Crémière's  favorite  saying,  "Well,  who- 
ever lives  will  know,"  shows  that  they  wished  at  an}- 
rate  more  harm  to  her  than  good. 

The    collector   and   the    clerk   of  the  court,  poor  in 


Ursula.  55 

comparison  with  the  post  master,  had  often  estimated, 
by  way  of  conversation,  the  doctor's  propert}'.  If  they 
met  their  uncle  walking  on  the  banks  of  the  canal 
or  along  the  road  they  would  look  at  each  other 
piteousl}^ 

"  He  must  have  got  hold  of  some  elixir  of  life," 
said  one. 

"  He  has  made  a  bargain  with  the  devil,"  replied 
the  other. 

"He  ought  to  give  us  the  bulk  of  it;  that  fat 
Minoret  does  n't  need  anything,"  said  Massin. 

"Ah!  but  Minoret  has  a  son  who'll  waste  his 
substance,"  answered  Crémière. 

"  How  much  do  you  really  think  the  doctor  has?  " 

"At  the  end  of  twelve  j^ears,  saj'  twelve  thousand 
francs  saved  each  3'ear,  that  would  give  one  hundred 
and  forty-four  thousand  francs,  and  the  interest  brings 
in  at  least  one  hundred  thousand  more.  But  as  he 
must,  if  he  consults  a  notary  in  Paris,  have  made 
some  good  strokes  of  business,  and  we  know  that 
up  to  1822  he  could  get  seven  or  eight  per  cent 
from  the  State,  he  must  now  have  at  least  four  hundred 
thousand  francs,  without  counting  the  capital  of  his 
fourteen  thousand  a  year  from  the  five  per  cents. 
If  he  were  to  die  to-morrow  without  leaving  anything 
to  Ursula  we  should  get  at  least  seven  or  eight  hundred 
thousand  francs,  besides  the  house  and  furniture." 


56  Ursula. 

"Well,  a  hundred  thousand  to  Minoret,  and  three 
hundred  thousand  apiece  to  you  and  m(!,  that  would 
be  fair." 

"Ha,  that  would  make  lis  comfortable!" 

"If  he  did  that,"  said  Massin,  "I  should  sell  my 
situation  in  court  and  buy  an  estate  ;  I  'd  tr^^  to 
be  judge  at  Fontainebleau,  and  get  myself  elected 
deputy." 

"  As  for  me  I  should  buy  a  brokerage  business," 
said  the  collector. 

"  Unluckilj-,  that  girl  he  has  on  his  arm  and  the 
abbé  have  got  round  him.  I  don't  believe  we  can 
do  anything  with  him." 

"  Still,  we  know  very  well  he  will  never  leave 
anj'thing  to  the  Church." 


Ursula.  57 


IV. 

ZÉLIE. 

The  fright  of  the  heirs  at  beholding  their  uncle 
on  his  way  to  mass  will  now  be  understood.  The 
dullest  persons  have  mind  enougli  to  foresee  a  danger 
to  self-interests.  Self-interest  constitutes  the  mind  of 
the  peasant  as  well  as  that  of  the  diplomatist,  and 
on  that  gi'ound  the  stupidest  of  men  is  sometimes 
the  most  powerful.  So  the  fatal  reasoning,  "If  that 
little  Ursula  has  influence  enough  to  drag  her  godfather 
into  the  pale  of  the  Church  she  will  certainlj'  have 
enough  to  make  him  leave  her  his  property,"  was  now 
stamped  in  letters  of  fire  on  the  brains  of  the  most 
obtuse  heir.  The  post  master  had  forgotten  about  his 
son  in  his  hurr}'  to  reach  the  square  ;  for  if  the  doctor 
were  really  in  the  church  hearmg  mass  it  was  a  ques- 
tion of  losing  two  hundred  and  fift}'  thousand  francs. 
It  must  be  admitted  that  the  fears  of  these  relations 
came  from  the  strongest  and  most  legitimate  of  social 
feelings,  family  interests. 

"  Well,  Monsieur  Minore t,"  said  the  mayor  (formerly 
a  miller  who  had  now  become  royalist,  named  Levrault- 


58  Ursula. 

Crémière),  "  when  the  devil  gets  old  the  devil  a  monk 
would  be.     Your  uncle,  they  say,  is  one  of  us." 

"  Better  late  than  never,  cousin,"  responded  the 
post  master,  trying  to  conceal  his  anno3'ance. 

"How  that  fellow  will  grin  if  we  are  defrauded! 
He  is  capable  of  marrying  his  son  to  that  damned  girl 
—  may  the  devil  get  her  !  "  cried  Crémière,  shaking  his 
fists  at  the  mayor  as  he  entered  the  porch. 

"  "What's  Crémière  grumbling  about?  "  said  the 
butcher  of  the  town,  a  Levrault-Levrault  the  elder. 
"Isn't  he  pleased  to  see  his  uncle  on  the  road  to 
Paradise  ?  " 

"Who  would  ever  have  believed  it!"  ejaculated 
Massin. 

"Ha!  one  should  never  sa3%  'Fountain,  I'll  not 
drink  of  your  water,'  "  remarked  the  notary,  who, 
seeing  the  group  from  afar,  had  left  his  wife  to  go  to 
church  without  him. 

"  Come,  Monsieur  Dionis,"  said  Crémière,  taking  the 
notary  by  the  arm,  "  what  do  you  advise  us  to  do  under 
the  circumstances  ?  " 

"  I  advise  3'ou,"  said  the  notary,  addressing  the  heirs 
collectively,  "to  go  to  bed  and  get  up  at  your  usual 
hour  ;  to  eat  3-our  soup  before  it  gets  cold  ;  to  put  your 
feet  in  jour  shoes  and  3'our  hats  on  jour  heads  ;  in 
short,  to  continue  j'our  ways  of  life  precisely  as  if 
nQthing  had  happened." 


Ursula.  59 

"  You  are  not  consoling,"  said  Massin. 

In  spite  of  his  squat,  dumpj'  figure  and  heavy  face, 
Crémière-Dionis  was  reall}'  as  keen  as  a  blade.  In 
pursuit  of  usurious  fortune  he  did  business  secretly  with 
Massin,  to  whom  he  no  doubt  pointed  out  such  peasants 
as  were  hampered  in  means,  and  such  pieces  of  land  as 
could  be  bought  for  a  song  The  two  men  were  in  a 
position  to  choose  their  opportunities  ;  none  that  were 
good  escaped  them,  and  they  shared  the  profits  of 
mortgage-usury,  which  retards,  though  it  does  not 
prevent,  the  acquirement  of  the  soil  b}'  the  peas- 
antr}'.  So  Dionis  tooii  a  lively  interest  in  the  doctor's 
inheritance,  not  so  much  for  the  post  master  ancj 
the  collector  as  for  his  friend  the  clerk  of  the  court  ; 
sooner  or  later  Massin's  share  in  the  doctor's  mone}' 
would  swell  the  capital  with  which  these  secret  asso- 
ciates worked  the  canton. 

"  "We  must  tr}-  to  find  out  through  Monsieur  Bon- 
grand  where  the  influence  comes  from,"  said  the  notary 
ni  a  low  voice,  with  a  sign  to  Massin  to  keep  quiet. 

"What  are  j'ou  about,  Minoret?  "  cried  a  little 
woman,  suddenly  descending  upon  the  group  in  the 
middle  of  which  stood  the  post  master,  as  tall  and  round 
as  a  tower.  "  You  don't  know  where  Désiré  is  and 
there  you  are,  planted  on  your  two  legs,  gossipping 
about  nothing,  when  I  thought  you  on  horseback  !  — > 
Oh,  good  morning,  Messieurs  and  Mesdames." 


60  Ursula. 

This  little  woman,  thin,  pale,  and  fair,  dressed  in  a 
gown  of  white  cotton  with  a  pattern  of  large,  chocolate- 
colored  flowers,  a  cap  trimmed  with  ribbon  and  frilled 
with  lace,  and  wearing  a  small  green  shawl  on  her  flat 
shoulders,  was  Minoret's  wife,  the  terror  of  postilions, 
servants,  and  carters  ;  who  kept  the  accounts  and  man- 
aged the  establishment  "  with  finger  and  eye  "  as  they 
say  in  those  parts.  Like  the  true  housekeeper  that  she 
was,  she  wore  no  ornaments.  She  did  not  give  in  (to 
use  her  own  expression)  to  gew-gaws  and  trumpery  ; 
she  held  to  the  solid  and  the  substantial,  and  wore, 
even  on  Sunda3's,  a  black  apron,  in  the  pocket  of  which 
she  jingled  her  household  kej's.  Her  screeching  voice 
was  agony  to  the  drums  of  all  ears.  Her  rigid  glance, 
conflicting  with  the  soft  blue  of  her  ej-es,  was  in  visible 
harmony  with  the  thin  lips  of  a  pinched  mouth  and  a 
high,  projecting,  and  very  imperious  forehead.  Sharp 
was  the  glance,  sharper  still  both  gesture  and  speech. 
"  Zélie  being  obliged  to  have  a  will  for  two,  had  it  for 
three,"  said  Goupil,  who  pointed  out  the  successive 
reigns  of  three  3'oung  postilions,  of  neat  appearance, 
who  had  been  set  up  in  life  by  Zélie,  each  after  seven 
years'  service.  The  malicious  clerk  named  them  Post- 
ilion I.,  Postilion  II.,  Postilion  III.  But  the  little 
influence  these  young  men  had  in  the  establishment, 
and  their  perfect  obedience  proved  that  Zélie  was 
merely  interested  in  worthy  helpers. 


Ursula.  61 

This  attempt  at  scandal  was  against  probabilities. 
Since  the  birth  of  her  son  (nursed  b}-  her  without  any 
evidence  of  how  it  was  possible  for  her  to  do  so) 
Madame  Minoret  had  thought  only  of  increasing  the 
family  fortune  and  was  wholly  given  up  to  the  manage- 
ment of  their  immense  establishment.  ïo  steal  a  bale 
of  hay  or  a  bushel  of  oats  or  get  the  better  of  Zélie  in 
even  the  most  complicated  accounts  was  a  thing  im- 
possible, though  she  scribbled  hardly  better  than  a  cat, 
and  knew  nothing  of  arithmetic  but  addition  and 
subtraction.  She  never  took  a  walk  except  to  look  at 
tlie  hay,  the  oats,  or  the  second  crops.  She  sent  '•'-  her 
man  "  to  the  mowing,  and  the  postilions  to  tie  the  bales, 
telling  them  the  quantity,  within  a  hundred  pounds, 
each  field  should  bear.  Though  she  was  the  soul  of 
that  great  body  called  Minoret-Levrault  and  led  him 
about  by  his  pug  nose,  she  was  made  to  feel  the  fears 
which  occasionally  (we  are  told)  assail  all  tamers  of 
wild  beasts.  She  therefore  made  it  a  rule  to  get  into 
a  rage  before  he  did  ;  tlie  postilions  knew  very  well 
when  his  wife  had  been  quarrelhng  with  him,  for  his 
anger  ricochetted  on  them.  Madame  Minoret  was  as 
clever  as  she  was  grasping  ;  and  it  was  a  favorite 
remark  in  the  whole  town,  "  Where  would  Minoret- 
Levrault  be  witliout  his  wife?" 

"  When  you  know  what  has  happened!,"  replied  the 
post  master,  '  *■  you  '11  be  over  the  traces  3'ourself." 


62  Ursula. 

"What  is  it?" 

"  Ursula  has  taken  the  doctor  to  mass." 

Zelie's  pupils  dilated  ;  she  stood  for  a  moment  j'ellow 
with  anger,  then,  crjing  out,  "I  '11  see  it  before  I 
believe  it  !  "  she  rushed  into  the  church.  The  service 
had  reached  the  Elevation.  The  stillness  of  the  wor- 
shippers enabled  her  to  look  along  each  row  of  chairs 
and  benches  as  she  went  up  the  aisle  beside  the  chapels 
to  Ursula's  place,  where  she  saw  old  Minoret  standing 
with  bared  head. 

If  you  recall  the  heads  of  Barbe-Marbois,  Boiss}'' 
d'Anglas,  Morellet,  Helvétius,  or  Frederick  the  Great, 
you  will  see  the  exact  image  of  Doctor  Minoret,  whose 
green  old  age  resembled  that  of  those  celebrated  per- 
sonages. Their  heads  coined  in  the  same  mint  (for 
each  had  the  characteristics  of  a  medal)  showed  a  stern 
and  quasi-puritan  profile,  cold  tones,  a  mathematical 
brain,  a  certain  narrowness  about  the  features,  shrewd 
eyes,  grave  lips,  and  a  something  that  was  surely  aris- 
tocratic —  less  perhaps  in  sentiment  than  in  habit, 
more  in  the  ideas  than  in  the  character.  All  men  of 
this  stamp  have  high  brows  retreating  at  the  summit, 
the  sigh  of  a  tendencj'  to  materialism.  You  will  find 
these  leading  characteristics  of  the  head  and  these 
points  of  the  face  in  all  the  Encyclopedists,  in  the 
orators  of  the  Gironde,  in  the  men  of  a  period  when 
religious  ideas  were  almost  dead,  men  who  called  them- 


Ursula.  63 

selves  deists  and  were  atheists.     The  deist  is  an  atheist 
lucky  in  classification. 

Minoret  had  a  forehead  of  this  description,  furrowed 
with  wrinkles,  which  recovered  in  his  old  age  a  sort  of 
artless  candor  from  the  manner  in  which  the  silvery 
hair,  brushed  back  like  that  of  a  woman  when  making 
her  toilet,  curled  in  light  flakes  upon  the  blackness  of 
his  coat.  He  persisted  in  dressing,  as  in  his  youth, 
in  black  silk  stockings,  shoes  with  gold  buckles, 
breeches  of  black  poult-de-soie,  and  a  black  coat, 
adorned  with  the  red  rosette.  This  head,  so  firmly 
characterized,  the  cold  whiteness  of  which  was  softened 
by  the  j-ellowing  tones  of  old  age,  happened  to  be,  just 
then,  in  the  full  light  of  a  window.  As  Madame  Mino- 
ret came  in  sight  of  him  the  doctor's  blue  ejes  with 
their  reddened  lids  were  raised  to  heaven  ;  a  new  con- 
viction had  given  them  a  new  expression.  His  specta- 
cles lay  in  his  prayer-book  and  marked  the  place  where 
he  had  ceased  to  pray.  The  tall  and  spare  old  man,  his 
arms  crossed  on  his  breast,  stood  erect  in  an  attitude 
which  bespoke  the  full  strength  of  his  faculties  and  the 
unshakable  assurance  of  his  faith.  He  gazed  at  the 
altar  humbly  with  a  look  of  renewed  hope,  and  took 
no  notice  of  his  nephew's  wife,  who  planted  herself 
almost  in  front  of  him  as  if  to  reproach  him  for 
coming  back  to  God. 

Zélie,  seeing  all  eyes  turned  upon  her,  made  haste  to 


64  Ursula. 

leave  the  church  and  returned  to  the  square  less  hur- 
riedly than  she  had  left  it.  She  had  reckoned  on  the 
doctor's  money,  and  possession  was  becoming  prob- 
lematical. She  found  the  clerk  of  the  court,  the  col- 
lector, and  their  wives  in  greater  consternation  than 
ever.    Goupil  was  taking  pleasure  in  tormenting  them. 

"  It  is  not  in  the  public  square  and  before  the  whole 
town  that  we  ought  to  talk  of  our  affairs,"  said  Zelie  ; 
"  come  home  with  me.  You,  too,  Monsieur  Dionis," 
she  added  to  the  notary  ;  "  3'ou  '11  not  be  in  the  wa}'." 

Thus  the  probable  disinheritance  of  Massin,  Crémière, 
and  the  post  master  was  the  news  of  the  da}'. 

Just  as  the  heirs  and  the  notary  were  crossing  the 
square  to  go  to  the  post  house  the  noise  of  the  dili- 
gence rattling  up  to  the  office,  which  was  onl}-  a  few 
steps  from  the  church,  at  tlie  top  of  the  Grand'Rue, 
made  its  usual  racket. 

"Goodness!  I'm  like  j'ou,  Minoret;  I  forgot  all 
about  Desire,"  said  Zehe.  "  Let  us  go  and  see  him  get 
down.  He  is  almost  a  lawyer  ;  and  his  interests  are 
mixed  up  in  this  matter." 

The  arrival  of  the  diligence  is  alwa^'S  an  amusement, 
but  when  it  comes  in  late  some  unusual  event  is  ex- 
pected.    The  crowd  now  moved  toward  the  '•  Dueler." 

"  Here  's  Desire  !  "  was  the  general  cry. 

The  tyrant,  and  yet  the  life  and  soul  of  Nemours, 
Desire  always  put  the  town  in  a  ferment  when  he  came. 


Ursula.  65 

Loved  by  the  young  men,  with  whom  he  was  invariably 
generous,  he  stimulated  them  by  his  very  presence. 
But  his  methods  of  amusement  were  so  dreaded  by 
older  persons  that  more  than  one  famil}'  was  very 
thankful  to  have  him  complete  his  studies  and  study 
law  in  Paris.  Desire  Minoret,  a  slight  youth,  slender 
and  fair  like  his  mother,  from  whom  he  obtained  his 
blue  e\'es  and  pale  skin,  smiled  from  the  window  on 
the  crowd,  and  jumped  lightly  down  to  kiss  his  mother. 
A  short  sketch  of  the  young  fellow  will  show  how 
proud  Zélie  felt  when  she  saw   him. 

He  wore  very  elegant  boots,  trousers  of  white 
English  drilling  held  under  his  feet  by  straps  of  var- 
nished leather,  a  rich  cravat,  admirably  put  on  and 
still  more  admirably  fastened,  a  prett}'  fancy  waistcoat, 
in  the  pocket  of  the  said  waistcoat  a  flat  watch,  the  chain 
of  which  hung  down  ;  and,  finally,  a  short  frock  coat 
of  blue  cloth,  and  a  gra}'  hat,  —  but  his  lack  of  the 
manner-born  was  shown  in  the  gilt  buttons  of  the 
waistcoat  and  the  ring  worn  outside  of  his  purple  kid 
glove.     He  carried  a  cane  with  a  chased  gold  head. 

"You  are  losing  ^our  watch,"  said  his  mother, 
kissing  him. 

"  No,  it  is  worn  that  wa}',"  he  replied,  letting  his 
father  hug  him. 

"Well,  cousin,  so  we  shall  soon  see  j'ou  a  lawyer?" 
said  Massin. 


66  Ursula. 

"  I  shall  take  the  oaths  at  the  beginning  of  next 
term,"  said  Desire,  returning  the  friendly  nods  he 
was  receiving  on  all  sides. 

"Now  we  shall  have  some  fun,"  said  Goupil,  shak- 
ing him  by  the  hand. 

"Ha  !  my  old  wag,  so  here  you  are  ! "  replied  Desire. 

"  You  take  your  law  license  for  all  license,"  said 
Goupil,  affronted  by  being  treated  so  cavalierly'  in 
presence  of  others. 

"  You  know  my  luggage,  Cabirolle,'  cried  Desire 
to  the  red-faced  old  conductor  of  the  diligence  ;  "  have 
it  taken  to  the  house." 

"  The  sweat  is  rolling  off  your  horses,"  said  Zelie 
sharply  to  the  conductor;  "you  haven't  common- 
sense  to  drive  them  in  that  way.  You  are  stupider 
than  your  own  beasts." 

"  But  Monsieur  Desire  was  in  a  hurrj'  to  get  here 
to  save  3'ou  from  anxiety,"  explained  Cabirolle. 

"  But  if  there  was  no  accident  why  risk  killing 
the  horses?"  she  retorted. 

The  greetings  of  friends  and  acquaintance,  the 
crowding  of  the  young  men  around  Desire,  and  the 
relating  of  the  incidents  of  the  journe}-  took  enough 
time  for  the  mass  to  be  concluded  and  the  worshippers 
to  issue  from  the  church.  By  mere  chance  (which 
manages  many  things)  Desire  saw  Ursula  in  the  porch 
as  he  passed  along,  and  he  stopped  short  amazed  at 


Ursula.  67 

her  beauty.     His  action  also  stopped  the  advance  of 
the  relations  who  accompanied  him. 

In  giving  her  arm  to  her  godfather,  Ursula  was 
obliged  to  hold  her  pra^'er-book  in  one  band  and  her 
parasol  in  the  other  ;  and  this  she  did  with  the  innate 
grace  which  graceful  women  put  into  the  awkward 
or  difficult  things  of  their  charming  craft  of  woman- 
hood. If  mind  does  trul}"  reveal  itself  in  all  things, 
we  may  be  permitted  to  sa^-  that  Ursula's  attitude 
and  bearing  expressed  divine  simplicity.  She  was 
dressed  in  a  white  cambric  gown  made  like  a  wrapper, 
trimmed  here  and  there  with  knots  of  blue  ribbon. 
The  pelerine,  edged  with  the  same  ribbon  run  through 
a  broad  hem  and  tied  with  bows  like  those  on 
the  dress,  showed  the  great  beauty  of  her  shape. 
Her  throat,  of  a  pure  white,  was  charming  in  tone 
against  the  blue,  —  the  right  color  for  a  fair  skin. 
A  long  blue  sash  with  floating  ends  defined  a  slender 
waist  which  seemed  flexible,  —  a  most  seductive  charm 
in  women.  She  wore  a  rice-straw  bonnet,  modestly 
trimmed  with  ribbons  like  those  of  the  gown,  the 
strings  of  which  were  tied  under  her  chin,  setting  off 
the  whiteness  of  the  straw  and  doing  no  despite  to 
tliat  of  her  beautiful  complexion.  Ursula  dressed  her 
own  hair  naturall}^  (à  la  Berthe,  as  it  was  then  called) 
in  heavy  braids  of  fine,  fair  hair,  laid  flat  on  either 
side   of    the    head,    each    little    strand    reflecting    the 


68  '  Ursula. 

light  as  she  walked.  Her  gray  eyes,  soft  and  proud 
at  the  same  time,  were  in  harmony'  with  a  finely 
modelled  brow.  A  rosj'  tinge,  suffusing  her  cheeks 
like  a  cloud,  brightened  a  face  which  was  regular 
without  being  Insipid  ;  for  nature  had  given  her,  by 
some  rare  privilege,  extreme  purity-  of  form  combined 
with  strength  of  countenance.  The  nobilit}'  of  her 
life  was  manifest  in  the  general  expression  of  her 
person,  which  might  have  served  as  a  model  for  a 
t^pe  of  trustfulness,  or  of  modesty.  Her  health, 
though  brilliant,  was  not  coarsely  apparent  ;  in  fact,  her 
whole  air  was  distinguished.  Beneath  the  little  gloves 
of  a  light  color  it  was  eas}'  to  imagine  her  pretty 
hands.  The  arched  and  slender  feet  were  delicatel}' 
shod  in  bronzed  kid  boots  trimmed  with  a  brown  silk 
fringe.  Her  blue  sash  holding  at  the  waist  a  small 
flat  watch"  and  a  blue  purse  with  gilt  tassels  attracted 
the  eA-es  of  every  woman  she  met. 

"He  has  given  her  a  new  watch!"  said  Madame 
Crémière,  pinching  her  husband's  arm. 

"Heavens!  is  that  Ursula?"  cried  Désiré;  "I 
did  n't  recognize  her." 

"  "Well,  my  dear  uncle,"  said  the  post  master,  ad- 
dressing the  doctor  and  pointing  to  tlie  whole  popula- 
tion drawn  up  in  parallel  hedges  to  let  the  doctor 
pass,  "  eveiybody  wants  to  see  you." 

"  Was    it    the    Abbé    Chaperon    or    Mademoiselle 


Ursula.  69 

Ursula  who  converted  3'ou,  uncle,"  said  Massin,  bowing 
to  the  doctor  and  his  protegee,  with  Jesuitical  humility. 

"  Ursula,"  replied  the  doctor,  laconically,  continuing 
to  walk  on  as  if  annoyed. 

The  night  before,  as  the  old  man  finished  his 
game  of  whist  with  Ursula,  the  Nemours  doctor,  and 
Bongrand,  he  remarked,  "  I  intend  to  go  to  church 
to-morrow." 

"Then,"  said  Bongrand,  "your  heirs  won't  get 
another  night's  rest." 

The  speech  was  superfluous,  however,  for  a  single 
glance  sufficed  the  sagacious  and  clear-sighted  doctor  to 
read  the  minds  of  his  heirs  by  the  expression  of  their 
faces.  Zélie's  irruption  into  the  church,  her  glance, 
which  the  doctor  intercepted,  this  meeting  of  all  the 
expectant  ones  in  the  public  square,  and  the  expression 
of  their  eyes  as  the}'  turned  them  on  Ursula,  all  proved 
to  him  their  hatred,  now  freshly  awakened,  and  their 
sordid  fears. 

"It  is  a  feather  in  3-our  cap.  Mademoiselle,"  said 
Madame  Crémière,  putting  in  her  word  with  a  humble 
bow,  —  "a  miracle  which  will  not  cost  3'ou  much." 

"  It  is  God's  doing,  madame,"  replied  Ursula. 

"  God  !"  exclaimed  Minoret-Levrault  ;  "  m}'  father- 
in  law  used  to  saj-  he  served  to  blanket  many  horses." 

"  Your  father-in-law  had  the  mind  of  a  jockc}',"  said 
the  doctor  severely. 


70  Ursula. 

"  Come,"  saîtl  Minoret  to  his  wife  and  sou,  "  why 
don't  you  bow  to  my  uncle  ?  " 

"  I  should  n't  be  mistress  of  myself  before  that  little 
hj'poerite,"  cried  Zélie,  carrying  off  her  son. 

"  I  advise  you,  uncle,  not  to  go  to  mass  without  a 
velvet  cap,"  said  Madame  Massin  ;  "  the  church  is  very 
damp." 

"Pooh,  niece,"  said  the  doctor,  looking  round  on  the 
assembly,  "  the  sooner  I'm  put  Lo  bed  the  sooner  you'll 
flourish." 

He  walked  on  quicklj',  drawing  Ursula  with  him,  and 
seemed  hi  such  a  hurry  that  the  others  dropped  behind. 

"  Why  do  3'ou  say  such  harsh  things  to  them  ?  it  is  n't 
right,"  said  Ursula,  shaking  his  arm  in  a  coaxing  way. 

"  I  shall  always  hate  hypocrites,  as  much  after  as 
before  I  became  religious.  I  have  done  good  to  them 
all,  and  I  asked  no  gratitude  ;  but  not  one  of  my  rela- 
tives sent  }ou  a  flower  on  your  birthday,  which  they 
know  is  the  only  day  I  celebrate.'' 

At  some  distance  behind  the  doctor  and  Ursula  came 
Madame  de  Portenduère,  dragging  herself  along  as  if 
overcome  with  trouble.  She  belonged  to  the  class  of 
old  women  whose  dress  recalls  the  style  of  the  last 
century.  They  wear  puce-colored  gowns  with  fiat 
sleeves,  the  cut  of  which  can  be  seen  in  the  portraits  of 
Madame  Lebrun  ;  they  all  have  black  lace  mantles  and 
bonnets  of  a  shape  gone  by,  in  keeping  with  their  slow 


Ursula.  71 

and  dignified  deportment  ;  one  might  almost  fancy  that 
they  still  wore  paniers  under  their  petticoats  or  felt 
them  there,  as  persons  who  have  lost  a  leg  are  said  to 
fancy  that  the  foot  is  moving.  The}-  swathe  their  heads 
in  old  lace  which  declines  to  drape  gracefullj*  about 
their  cheeks.  Their  wan  and  elongated  faces,  their 
haggard  ej^es  and  faded  brows,  are  not  without  a  cer- 
tain melancholy  grace,  in  spite  of  the  false  fronts  with 
flattened  curls  to  which  they  cling,  —  and  yet  these 
ruins  are  all  subordinate  to  an  unspeakable  dignit}'  of 
look  and  manner. 

The  red  and  wrinkled  eyes  of  this  old  lady  showed 
plainl}'  that  she  had  been  crying  during  the  service. 
She  walked  like  a  person  in  trouble,  seemed  to  be 
expecting  some  one,  and  looked  behind  her  from  time 
to  time.  Now,  the  fact  of  Madame  de  Portenduère 
looking  behind  her  was  reallj'  as  remarkable  in  its  way 
as  the  conversion  of  Doctor  Minoret. 

"  Who  can  Madame  de  Portenduère  be  looking  for?  " 
said  Madame  Massin,  rejoining  the  other  heirs,  who  were 
for  the  moment  struck  dumb  by  the  doctor's  answer. 

"  For  the  curé,"  said  Dionis,  the  notary,  suddenly 
striking  his  forehead  as  if  some  forgotten  thought  or 
memor}'  had  occurred  to  him.  ''  I  have  an  idea  !  I  'II 
save  3-our  inheritance  !  Let  us  go  and  breakfast  gayly 
with  Madame  Minoret." 

We  can  well  imagine  the  alacritv  with  which  the  heirs 


72  Ursula. 

followed  the  notary  to  the  post  house.  Goupil,  who 
accompanied  his  friend  Desire,  locked  arm  in  arm  with 
him,  whispered  something  in  the  youth's  ear  with  an 
odious  smile. 

"  What  do  I  care?"  answered  the  son  of  the  house, 
slirugging  his  slioulders.  "I  am  madly  in  love  with 
Florine,  the  most  celestial  creature  in  the  world." 

"  Florine  !  and  who  may  she  be  ?  "  demanded  Goupil. 
"  I  'm  too  fond  of  3'ou  to  let  3'ou  make  a  goose  of  your- 
self with  such  creatures." 

"  Florine  is  the  idol  of  the  famous  Nathan  ;  my  pas- 
sion is  wasted,  I  know  that.  She  has  positivelj'  refused 
to  marry  me." 

"  Sometimes  those  girls  who  are  fools  with  their 
bodies  are  wise  witli  their  heads,"  responded  Goupil. 

"If  you  could  but  see  her — only  once,"  said  Desire, 
lackadaisically,  "  you  wouldn't  sa}-  such  things." 

"  If  I  saw  you  throwing  away  your  whole  future  for 
nothing  better  than  a  fanc}',"  said  Goupil,  with  a  warmth 
which  miglit  even  have  deceived  his  master,  "  I  would 
break  your  doll  as  Varney  served  Amy  Robsart  in  '  Kenil- 
worth.'  Your  wife  must  be  a  d'Aiglemont  or  a  Made- 
moiselle du  Rouvre,  and  get  you  made  a  deputy.  My 
future  depends  on  yours,  and  I  sha'n't  let  you  commit 
any  follies." 

"  I  am  rich  enough  to  care  only  for  happiness," 
replied  Desire. 


Urmia.  73 

"  What  are  you  two  plotting  together?  "  cried  Zélie, 
beckoning  to  the  two  friends,  who  were  standing  in  the 
middle  of  the  courtjard,  to  come  into  the  house. 

The  doctor  disappeared  into  the  Rue  des  Bourgeoig 
with  the  activity  of  a  young  man,  and  soon  reached  his 
own  house,  where  strange  events  had  lately  taken  place, 
the  visible  results  of  which  now  filled  the  minds  of  the 
whole  community  of  Nemours.  A  few  explanations 
are  needed  to  make  this  history  and  the  notary's  remark 
to  the  heirs  perfectly  intelligible  to  the  reader. 


74  Ursula. 

V. 

URSULA. 

The  fiither-in-law  of  Doctor  Minoret,  the  famous 
bavpsichordist  and  maker  of  instruments,  Valentin 
Mirouet,  also  one  of  our  most  celebrated  organists, 
died  in  1785  leaving  a  natural  son,  the  child  of  his  old 
age,  whom  he  acknowledged  and  called  by  his  own 
name,  but  who  turned  out  a  worthless  fellow.  He  was 
deprived  on  his  death  bed  of  the  comfort  of  seeing  this 
petted  son.  Joseph  Mirouet,  a  singer  and  composer, 
having  made  his  début  at  the  Italian  opera  under  a 
feigned  name,  ran  away  with  a  3'oung  lady  in  German}'. 
The  dj'ing  father  commended  the  30ung  man,  who  was 
rcall}"  full  of  talent,  to  his  son-in-law,  proving  to  him, 
at  the  same  time,  that  he  had  refused  to  marry  the 
mother  that  he  might  not  injure  Madame  Minoret. 
The  doctor  promised  to  give  the  unfortunate  Joseph 
half  of  whatever  his  wife  inherited  from  her  father, 
whose  business  was  purchased  b}'  the  Erards.  He 
made  due  search  for  his  illegitimate  brother-in-law  ;  but 
Grimm  informed  him  one  day  that  after  enhsting  in  a 
Prussian  regiment  Joseph  had  deserted  and  taken  a 
false  name  and  that  all  efforts  to  find  hira  would  be 
frustrated. 


Ursula.  75 

Joseph  Mirouët,  gifted  by  nature  with  a  delightful 
voice,  a  fine  figure,  a  handsome  face,  and  being  more- 
over a  composer  of  great  taste  and  much  brillianc}',  led 
for  over  fifteen  3-ears  the  Bohemian  life  which  Hoffmann 
has  so  well  described.  So,  by  the  time  he  was  forty, 
he  was  reduced  to  such  depths  of  poverty  that  he  took 
advantage  of  the  events  of  1806  to  make  himself  once 
more  a  Frenchman.  He  settled  in  Hamburg,  where  he 
married  the  daughter  of  a  bourgeois,  a  girl  devoted  to 
music,  who  fell  in  love  with  the  singer  (whose  fame  was 
ever  prospective)  and  chose  to  devote  her  life  to  him. 
But  after  fifteen  years  of  Bohemia,  Joseph  Mirouët 
was  unable  to  bear  prosperity  ;  he  was  naturally  a 
spendthrift,  and  though  kind  to  his  wife,  he  wasted 
her  fortune  in  a  very  few  years.  The  household 
must  have  dragged  on  a  wretched  existence  before 
Joseph  Mirouët  reached  the  point  of  enlisting  as  a 
musician  in  a  French  regiment.  In  1813  the  surgeon- 
major  of  the  regiment,  by  the  merest  chance,  heard  the 
name  of  Mirouët,  was  struck  by  it,  and  wrote  to  Doctor 
Minoret,  to  whom  he  was  under  obligations. 

The  answer  was  not  long  in  coming.  As  a  result,  in 
1814,  before  the  allied  occupation,  Joseph  Mirouët  had 
a  home  in  Paris,  where  his  wife  died  giving  birth  to 
a  little  girl,  whom  the  doctor  desired  should  be  called 
Ursula  after  his  wife.  The  father  did  not  long  survive 
the  mother,   worn  out,  as  she  was,  by  hardship  and 


76  Ursula. 

poverty.  When  dying  the  unfortunate  musician  be- 
queathed his  daughter  to  the  doctor,  who  was  ah-eady 
her  godfather,  in  spite  of  his  repugnance  for  what  he 
called  the  mummeries  of  the  Church.  Having  seen  his 
own  children  die  in  succession  either  in  dangerous  con- 
finements or  during  the  first  year  of  their  lives,  the 
doctor  had  awaited  with  anxiety  the  result  of  a  last 
hope.  When  a  nervous,  delicate,  and  sickly  woman 
begins  with  a  miscarriage  it  is  not  unusual  to  see  her 
go  through  a  series  of  such  pregnancies  as  Ursula 
Minoret  did,  in  spite  of  the  care  and  watchfulness  and 
science  of  her  husband.  The  poor  man  often  blamed 
himself  for  their  mutual  persistence  in  desiring  chil- 
dren. The  last  child,  born  after  a  rest  of  nearly  two 
years,  died  in  1792,  a  victim  of  its  mother's  nervous 
condition  —  if  we  listen  to  physiologists,  who  tell  us 
that  in  the  inexplicable  phenomenon  of  generation  the 
child  derives  from  the  father  by  blood  and  from  the 
mother  in  its  nervous  system. 

Compelled  to  renounce  the  jo3's  of  a  feeling  all  power- 
ful withm  him,  the  doctor  turned  to  benevolence  as  a 
substitute  for  his  denied  paternity.  During  his  mar- 
ried life,  thus  cruelly  disappointed,  he  had  longed  more 
especially  for  a  fair  little  daughter,  a  flower  to  bring  joy 
to  the  house  ;  he  therefore  gladlj'  accepted  Joseph 
Mirouët's  legacj',  and  gave  to  the  orphan  all  the  hopes 
of  his  vanished  dreams.     For  two  years  he  took  part. 


Ursula.  77 

as  Cato  for  Pompey,  in  the  most  minute  particulars  of 
Ursula's  life  ;  he  would  not  allow  the  nurse  to  suckle 
her  or  to  take  her  up  or  put  her  to  bed  without  him. 
His  medical  science  and  his  experience  were  all  put  to 
use  in  her  service.  After  going  through  many  trials, 
alternations  of  hope  and  fear,  and  the  joys  and  labors 
of  a  mother,  he  had  the  happiness  of  seeing  this  child 
of  the  fair  German  woman  and  the  French  singer  a 
creature  of  vigorous  health  and  profound  sensibilit}'. 

With  all  the  eager  feelings  of  a  mother  the  happ}-  old 
man  watched  the  growth  of  the  prett}'  hair,  first  down, 
then  silk,  at  last  hair,  fine  and  soft  and  clinging  to  the 
fingers  that  caressed  it.  He  often  kissed  the  little 
naked  i'eet  the  toes  of  which,  covered  with  a  pellicle 
through  which  the  blood  was  seen,  were  like  rosebuds. 
He  was  passionately  fond  of  the  child.  When  she 
tried  to  speak,  or  when  she  fixed  her  beautiful  blue  eyes 
upon  some  object  with  that  serious,  reflective  look  which 
seems  the  dawn  of  thought,  and  which  she  ended  with 
a  laugh,  he  would  stay  by  her  for  hours,  seeking,  with 
Jordy's  help,  to  understand  the  reasons  (which  most 
people  call  caprices)  underlying  the  phenomena  of  this 
delicious  phase  of  life,  when  childhood  is  both  flower 
and  fruit,  a  confused  intelligence,  a  perpetual  move- 
ment, a  powerful  desire. 

Ursula's  beauty  and  gentleness  made  her  so  dear  to 
the  doctor  that  he  would  have  liked  to  change  the  laws 


78  Ursula. 

of  nature  in  her  behalf.  He  declared  to  old  Jord}^  that 
his  teeth  ached  when  Ursula  was  cutting  hers.  When 
old  men  love  children  there  is  no  limit  to  their  passion 
—  they  worship  them.  For  these  little  beings  they  si- 
lence their  own  manias  or  recall  a  whole  past  in  their 
service.  Experience,  patience,  sympathy,  the  acquisi- 
tions of  life,  treasures  laboriousl}-  amassed,  all  are  spent 
upon  that  young  life  in  which  they  live  again  ;  their 
intelligence  does  actually  take  the  place  of  motherhood. 
Their  wisdom,  ever  on  the  alert,  is  equal  to  the  intui- 
tion of  a  mother  ;  they  remember  the  delicate  percep- 
tions which  in  their  own  mother  were  divinations,  and 
import  them  into  the  exercise  of  a  compassion  which  is 
carried  to  an  extreme  in  their  minds  b\'  a  sense  of  the 
child's  unutterable  weakness.  The  slowness  of  their 
movements  takes  the  place  of  maternal  gentleness.  In 
them,  as  in  the  children,  life  is  reduced  to  its  simplest 
expression  ;  if  maternal  sentiment  makes  the  mother  a 
slave,  the  abandonment  of  self  allows  an  old  man  to 
devote  himself  utterly.  For  these  reasons  it  is  not 
unusual  to  see  children  in  close  intimac}'  with  old 
persons.  The  old  soldier,  the  old  abbé,  the  old  doctor, 
happ3'  in  the  kisses  and  cajoleries  of  little  Ursula,  were 
never  weary  of  answering  her  talk  and  playing  with  her. 
Far  from  making  them  impatient  her  petulances  charmed 
them;  and  thc}-" gratified  all  her  wishes,  making  each 
the  ground  of  some  little  training. 


Ursula.  79 

The  child  grew  up  surrounded  by  old  men,  who 
smiled  at  her  and  made  themselves  mothers  for  her 
sake,  all  three  equally'  attentive  and  provident.  Thanks 
to  this  wise  education,  Ursula's  soul  developed  in  a 
sphere  that  suited  it.  This  rare  plant  found  its  special 
soil  ;  it  breathed  the  elements  of  its  true  life  and  assim- 
ilated the  sun  rays  that  belonged  to  it. 

"  In  what  faith  do  you  intend  to  bring  up  the  little 
one  ?  "  asked  the  abbé  of  the  doctor,  when  Ursula  was 
six  years  old. 

"In  yours,"  answered  Minoret. 

An  atheist  after  the  manner  of  Monsieur  Wolmar  in 
the  "  Nouvelle  Héloise  "  he  did  not  claim  the  right  to 
deprive  Ursula  of  the  benefits  offered  by  the  Catholic 
religion.  The  doctor,  sitting  at  the  moment  on  a  bench 
outside  the  Chinese  pagoda,  felt  the  pressure  of  the 
abbe's  hand  on  his. 

"  Yes,  abbé,  ever}'  time  she  talks  to  me  of  God  I 
shall  send  her  to  her  friend  '  Shapron,'  "  he  said,  imitat- 
ing Ursula's  infant  speech,  "  I  wish  to  see  whether  reli- 
gious sentiment  is  inborn  or  not.  Therefore  I  shall  do 
nothing  either  for  or  against' the  tendencies  of  that 
young  soul  ;  but  in  my  heart  I  have  appointed  you  her 
spiritual  guardian." 

"God  will  reward  you,  I  hope,"  rephed  the  abbé, 
gently  joining  his  hands  and  raising  them  toward  heaven 
as  if  he  were  making  a  brief  mental  pra^'er. 


80  Ursula, 

So,  from  the  time  she  was  six  j'ears  old  the  little 
orphan  lived  under  the  religious  influence  of  the  abbé, 
just  as  she  had  alread}'  come  under  the  educational 
training  of  lier  friend  Jordy. 

The  captain,  formerly-  a  professor  in  a  military  acad- 
emy', having  a  taste  for  grammar  and  for  the  differences 
among  European  languages,  had  studied  the  problem 
of  a  single  universal  tongue.  This  learned  man,  patient 
as  most  old  scholars  are,  delighted  in  teaching  Ursula  to 
read  and  write.  He  taught  her  also  the  French  language 
and  all  she  needed  to  know  of  arithmetic.  The  doctor's 
library  afforded  a  choice  of  booivs  which  could  be  read 
by  a  child  for  amusement  as  well  as  instruction. 

The  abbé  and  the  soldier  allowed  the  young  mind 
to  enrich  itself  with  the  freedom  and  comfort  which 
the  doctor  gave  to  tlie  bodj'.  Ursula  learned  as  she 
played.  Religion  was  given  with  due  reflection.  Left 
to  follow  the  divine  training  of  a  nature  that  was  led 
into  regions  of  purity  by  these  judicious  educators, 
Ursula  inchned  more  to  sentiment  than  to  dut}*  ;  she 
took  as  her  rule  of  conduct  the  voice  of  her  own 
conscience  rather  than  the  demands  of  social  law.  In 
her,  nobility  of  feeling  and  action  would  ever  be  spon- 
taneous ;  her  judgment  would  confirm  the  impulse  of  her 
heart.  She  was  destined  to  do  right  as  a  pleasure 
before  doing  it  as  an  obligation.  This  distinction  is 
the  peculiar  sign  of  Christian  education.     These  prin- 


Ursula.  81 

ciples,  altogether  different  from  those  that  are  taught  to 
men,  were  suitable  for  a  woman,  —  the  spirit  and  con- 
science of  the  home,  the  beautifier  of  domestic  Ufe,  the 
queen  of  her  household.  All  three  of  these  old  precept- 
ors followed  the  same  method  with  Ursula.  Instead  of 
recoiling  before  the  bold  questions  of  innocence,  they  ex- 
plained to  her  the  reasons  of  things  and  the  best  means 
of  action,  taking  care  to  give  her  none  but  correct  ideas. 
When,  apropos  of  a  flower,  a  star,  a  blade  of  grass,  her 
thoughts  went  straight  to  God,  the  doctor  and  the  pro- 
fessor told  her  that  the  priest  alone  could  answer  her. 
None  of  them  intruded  on  the  territory  of  the  others  ; 
the  doctor  took  charge  of  her  material  well-being  and 
the  things  of  life  ;  Jordy's  department  was  instruction  ; 
moral  and  spiritual  questions  and  the  ideas  appertaining 
to  the  higher  life  belonged  to  the  abbé.  This  noble  edu- 
cation was  not,  as  it  often  is,  counteracted  by  injudicious 
servants.  La  Bougival,  having  been  lectured  on  the 
subject,  and  being,  moreover,  too  simple  in  mind  and 
character  to  interfere,  did  nothing  to  injure  the  work  of 
these  great  minds.  Ursula,  a  privileged  being,  grew  up 
with  good  geniuses  round  her  ;  and  her  naturally  fine 
disposition  made  the  task  of  each  a  sweet  and  easy  one. 
Such  manly  tenderness,  such  gravity  lighted  by  smiles, 
such  libert}'  without  danger,  such  perpetual  care  of  soul 
and  bod}'  made  little  Ursula,  when  nine  years  of  ago,  a 
well-trained  child  and  delightful  to  behold. 

6 


82  Ursula. 

Unhappily,  this  paternal  trinity  was  broken  up.  The 
old  captain  died  the  following  year,  leaving  the  abbé 
and  the  doctor  to  finish  his  work,  of  which,  however, 
he  had  accomplished  the  most  difficult  part.  Flowers 
will  bloom  of  themselves  if  grown  in  a  soil  thus  pre- 
pared. The  old  gentleman  had  laid  by  for  ten  years 
past  one  thousand  francs  a  year,  that  he  might  leave 
ten  thousand  to  his  little  Ursula,  and  keep  a  place  in 
her  memory  during  her  whole  Hfe.  In  his  will,  the 
wording  of  which  was  ver}-  touching,  he  begged  his 
legatee  to  spend  the  four  or  five  hundred  francs  that 
came  of  her  little  capital  exclusively  on  her  dress. 
When  the  justice  of  peace  applied  the  seals  to  the  effects 
of  his  old  friend,  they  found  in  a  small  room,  which  the 
captain  had  allowed  no  one  to  enter,  a  quantity  of  tojs, 
many  of  them  broken,  while  all  had  been  used,  —  toys 
of  a  past  generation,  reverently  preserved,  which  Mon- 
sieur Bongrand  was,  according  to  the  captain's  last 
wishes,  to  burn  with  his  own  hands. 

About  this  time  it  was  that  Ursula  made  her  first 
communion.  The  abbé  employed  one  whole  3ear  in 
duly  instructing  the  young  girl,  whose  mind  and  heart, 
each  well  developed,  yet  judiciously  balancing  one 
another,  needed  a  special  spiritual  nourishment.  The 
initiation  into  a  knowledge  of  divine  things  which  he 
gave  her  was  such  that  Ursula  grew  into  the  pious  and 
mistical  young   girl  whose   character   rose   above   all 


Ursula.  83 

vicissitudes,  and  whose  heart  was  enabled  to  conquer 
adversity.  Then  began  a  secret  struggle  between  the 
old  man  wedded  to  unbelief  and  the  3'oung  girl  full 
of  faith,  —  long  unsuspected  by  her  who  incited  it, — 
the  result  of  which  had  now  stirred  tlie  whole  town,  and 
was  destined  to  have  great  influence  on  Ursula's  future 
by  rousing  against  her  the  antagonism  of  the  doctor's 
heirs. 

During  the  first  six  months  of  the  3'ear  1824  Ursula 
spent  all  her  mornings  at  the  parsonage.  The  old  doc- 
tor guessed  the  abbe's  secret  hope.  He  meant  to  make 
Ursula  an  unanswerable  argument  against  him.  The 
old  unbeliever,  loved  by  his  godchild  as  though  she 
were  his  own  daughter,  would  surely  believe  in  such 
artless  candor  ;  he  could  not  fail  to  be  persuaded  by  the 
beautiful  effects  of  religion  on  the  soul  of  a  child,  where 
love  was  like  those  trees  of  Eastern  climes,  bearing  both 
flowers  and  fruit,  always  fragrant,  alwa3-s  fertile.  A 
beautiful  life  is  more  powei'ful  than  the  strongest  argu- 
ment. It  is  impossible  to  resist  the  charm  of  certain 
sights.  The  doctor's  ej'es  were  wet,  he  knew  not  how 
or  why,  when  he  saw  the  child  of  his  heart  starting  for 
the  church,  wearing  a  frock  of  white  crape,  and  shoes 
of  white  satin  ;  her  hair  bound  with  a  fillet  fastened  at 
the  side  with  a  knot  of  white  ribbon,  and  rippling  upon 
her  shoulders  ;  her  eyes  lighted  by  the  star  of  a  first 
hope  ;  hurrying,  tall  and  beautiful,  to  a  first  union,  and 


84  Ursula, 

loving  her  godfather  better  since  her  soul  had  risen 
towards  God.  When  the  doctor  perceived  that  the 
thought  of  immortality'  was  nourishing  that  spirit  (until 
then  within  the  confines  of  childhood)  as  the  sun  gives 
life  to  the  earth  without  knowing  why,  he  felt  sorry  that 
he  remained  at  home  alone. 

Sitting  on  the  steps  of  his  portico  he  kept  his  e^'es 
fixed  on  the  iron  railing  of  the  gate  through  which  his 
child  had  disappeared,  saying  as  she  left  him:  "Why 
won't  you  come,  godfather?  how  can  I  be  happy  with- 
out 3'ou  ?  "  Though  shaken  to  his  very  centre,  the 
pride  of  the  Enc^^clopedist  did  not  as  yet  give  way.  He 
walked  slowl}'  in  a  direction  from  which  he  could  see 
the  procession  of  communicants,  and  distinguish  his 
little  Ursula  brilliant  with  exaltation  beneath  her  veil. 
She  gave  him  an  inspired  look,  which  knocked,  in  the 
stony  regions  of  his  heart,  on  the  corner  closed  to  God. 
But  still  the  old  deist  held  firm.  He  said  to  himself: 
"Mummeries!  if  there  be  a  maker  of  worlds,  imagine 
the  organizer  of  infinitude  concerning  himself  with  such 
trifles  !  "  He  laughed  as  he  continued  his  walk  along 
the  heights  which  look  down  upon  the  road  to  the 
Gâtinais,  where  the  bells  were  ringing  a  jo^'ous  peal 
that  told  of  the  jo}'  of  families. 

The  noise  of  backgammon  is  intolerable  to  persons 
who  do  not  know  the  game,  which  is  reallv  one  of  the 
most  difficult  that  was   ever  invented.     Not  to  annov 


Ursula.  85 

his  godchild,  the  extreme  delicacy  of  whose  organs  and 
nerves  could  not  bear,  he  thought,  without  injury  the 
noise  and  the  exclamations  she  did  not  know  the  mean- 
ing of,  the  abbé,  old  Jordy  wiiile  living,  and  the  doctor 
always  waited  till  their  child  was  in  bed  before  the}' 
began  their  favorite  game.  Sometimes  the  visitors 
came  early  when  she  was  out  for  a  walk,  and  the  game 
would  be  going  on  when  she  returned  ;  then  she  resigned 
herself  with  infinite  grace  and  took  her  seat  at  the  win- 
dow with  her  work.  She  had  a  repugnance  to  the  game, 
which  is  really  in  the  beginning  ver}'  hard  and  uncon- 
querable to  some  minds,  so  that  unless  it  be  learned  in 
youth  it  is  almost  impossible  to  take  it  up  in  after 
life. 

The  night  of  her  first  communion,  when  Ursula  came 
into  the  salon  where  her  godfather  was  sitting  alone, 
she  put  the  backgammon-board  before  him. 

"  Whose  throw  shall  it  be?"  she  asked. 

"Ursula,"  said  the  doctor,  "isn't  it  a  sin  to  make 
fun  of  3'our  godfather  the  day  of  3'our  first  com- 
munion ?  " 

"I  am  not  making  fun  of  30U,"  she  said,  sitting 
down.  "  I  want  to  give  you  some  pleasure  —  you  who 
are  alwa^'s  on  the  look-out  for  mine.  When  Monsieur 
Chaperon  was  pleased  with  me  he  gave  me  a  lesson  in 
backgammon,  and  he  has  given  me  so  many  that  now 
I  am  quite  strong  enough  to  beat  you  —  you  shall  not 


86  Ursula. 

deprive  yourself  any  longer  for  me.  I  have  conquered 
all  difficulties,  and  now  I  like  the  noise  of  the  game." 

Ursula  won.  The  abbé  had  slipped  in  to  enjoy  his 
triumph.  The  next  day  Minoret,  who  had  always  re- 
fused to  let  Ursula  learn  music,  sent  to  Paris  for  a 
piano,  made  arrangements  at  Fontainebleau  for  a 
teacher,  and  submitted  to  the  annoyance  that  her  con- 
stant practising  was  to  him.  One  of  poor  Jordy's  pre- 
dictions was  fulfilled,  —  the  girl  became  an  excellent 
musician.  The  doctor,  proud  of  her  talent,  had  lately 
sent  to  Paris  for  a  master,  an  old  German  named 
Schmucke,  a  distinguished  professor  who  came  once  a 
week  ;  the  doctor  willingly  paying  for  an  art  which  he 
had  formerly  declared  to  be  useless  in  a  household. 
Unbelievers  do  not  like  music  —  a  celestial  language, 
developed  by  Catholicism,  which  has  taken  the  names 
of  the  seven  notes  from  one  of  the  church  h^'mns  ; 
ever}'  note  being  the  first  syllable  of  the  seven  first 
lines  in  the  h^'mn  to  Saint  John. 

The  impression  produced  on  the  doctor  by  Ursula's 
first  communion  though  keen  was  not  lasting.  The 
calm  and  sweet  contentment  which  prayer  and  the 
exercise  of  resolution  produced  in  that  young  soul 
had  not  their  due  influence  upon  him.  Having  no 
reasons  for  remorse  or  repentance  himself,  he  enjoyed 
a  serene  peace.  Doing  his  own  benefactions  without 
hope   of  a  celestial  harvest,  he  thought  liimself  on  a 


Ursula.  87 

nobler  plane  than  religious  men  whom  he  alwajs  ac- 
cused for  making,  as  he  called  it,  terms  with  God. 

"But,"  the  abbé  would  say  to  him,  "if  all  men 
would  do  so,  you  must  admit  that  society  would  be 
regenerated  ;  there  would  be  no  more  miser}'.  To 
be  benevolent  after  your  fashion  one  must  needs  be 
a  great  philosopher;  you  rise  to  your  pi'inciples 
through  reason,  3'ou  are  a  social  exception  ;  whereas 
it  suffices  to  be  a  Christian  to  make  us  benevolent 
in  ours.  With  you,  it  is  an  effort  ;  with  us,  it  comes 
naturall}'." 

"  In  other  words,  abbé,  I  think,  and  you  feel,  — that's 
the  whole  of  it." 

However,  at  twelve  3'ears  of  age,  Ursula,  whose  quick- 
ness and  natural  feminine  perceptions  were  trained  by 
her  superior  education,  and  whose  intelligence  in  its 
dawn  was  enlightened  by  a  religious  spirit  (of  all  spirits 
the  most  refined),  came  to  understand  that  her  godfather 
did  not  believe  in  a  future  life,  nor  in  the  immortality 
of  the  soul,  nor  in  providence,  nor  in  God.  Pressed  with 
questions  b}'  the  innocent  creature,  the  doctor  was  un- 
able to  hide  the  fatal  seci'et.  Ursula's  artless  conster- 
nation made  him  smile,  but  when  he  saw  her  depressed 
and  sad  he  felt  how  deep  an  affection  her  sadness  re- 
vealed. Absolute  devotion  has  a  horror  of  every  sort 
of  disagreement,  even  in  ideas  which  it  does  not  share. 
Sometimes  the  doctor  accepted  his  darling's  reasonings 


88  Ursula. 

as  he  would  her  kisses,  said  as  they  were  in  the  sweet- 
est of  voices  with  the  purest  and  most  fervent  feeling. 
Believers  and  unbelievers  speak  different  languages  and 
cannot  understand  each  other.  The  j'oung  girl  plead- 
ing God's  cause  was  unreasonable  with  the  old  man,  as 
a  spoilt  child  sometimes  maltreats  its  mother.  The 
abbé  rebuked  her  gentl}',  telling  her  that  God  had  power 
to  humiliate  proud  spirits.  Ursula  replied  that  David 
had  overcome  Goliath. 

This  religious  difference,  these  complaints  of  the 
child  who  wished  to  drag  her  godfather  to  God,  were 
the  onl}'  troubles  of  this  happy  life,  so  peaceful,  yet 
so  full,  and  wholly  withdrawn  from  the  inquisitive 
eyes  of  the  little  town.  Ursula  grew  and  developed, 
and  became  in  time  the  modest  and  religiously  trained 
j-oung  woman  whom  Desire  admired  as  she  left  the 
church.  The  cultivation  of  flowers  in  the  garden, 
her  music,  the  pleasures  of  her  godfather,  and  all  the 
little  cares  she  was  able  to  give  him  (for  she  had 
eased  La  Bougival's  labors  b}'  doing  everything  for 
hun),  —  these  things  filled  the  hours,  the  days,  the 
months  of  her  calm  life.  Nevertheless,  for  about  a 
year  the  doctor  had  felt  uneasy  about  his  Ursula,  and 
watched  her  health  with  the  utmost  care.  Sagacious 
and  profoundly  practical  observer  that  he  was,  he 
thought  he  perceived  some  commotion  in  her  moral 
being.      He   watched   her   like   a   mother,    but   seeing 


Ursula.  89 

no  one  about  her  who  was  worthy  of  inspiring  love, 
his  uneasiness  on  the  subject  at  length  passed  awa}'. 
At  this  conjuncture,  one  month  before  the  day  when 
this  drama  begins,  the  doctor's  intellectual  life  was 
invaded  b}'  one  of  those  events  which  plough  to  the 
ver^'  depth  of  a  man's  convictions  and  turn  them  over. 
But  this  event  needs  a  succinct  narrative  of  certain 
circumstances  in  his  medical  career,  which  will  give, 
perhaps,  fresh  interest  to  the  story. 


90  Ursula. 


VI. 

A  TREATISE  ON  MESMERISM. 

Towards  the  end  of  the  eighteenth  century  science 
was  sundered  as  widel}'  by  the  apparition  of  Mesmer 
as  art  had  been  by  that  of  Gluck.  After  re-discovering 
magnetism  Mesmer  came  to  France,  where,  from  time 
immemorial,  inventors  have  flocked  to  obtain  recog- 
nition for  their  discoveries.  France,  thanks  to  her 
lucid  language,  is  in  some  sense  the  clarion  of  the 
world. 

"If  homoeopathy  gets  to  Paris  it  is  saved,"  said 
Hahnemann,  recentlj'. 

"  Go  to  France,"  said  Monsieur  de  Metternich  to 
Gall,  "  and  if  they  laugh  at  your  bumps  3' ou  will 
be  famous." 

Mesmer  had  disciples  and  antagonists  as  ardent  for 
and  against  his  theories  as  the  Piccinists  and  the 
Gluckists  for  theirs.  Scientific  France  was  stirred  to 
its  centre  ;  a  solemn  conclave  was  opened.  Before 
judgment  was  rendered,  the  medical  facult}'  proscribed, 
in  a  body,  Mesmer's  so-called  charlatanism,  his  tub, 
his  conducting  wires,  and  his  theory.  But  let  us  at 
once  admit  that  the  German,  unfortunateh',  compro- 


Ursula.  91 

mised  his  splendid  discovery  by  enormous  pecuniary 
claims.  Mesmer  was  defeated  b}'  the  doubtfulness  of 
facts,  b}'  universal  ignorance  of  the  part  played  in  na- 
ture by  imponderable  fluids  then  unobserved,  and  by 
his  own  inability  to  stud}'  on  all  sides  a  science  possess- 
ing a  triple  front.  Magnetism  has  many  applications  ; 
in  Mesmer's  bands  it  was,  in  its  relation  to  the  future, 
merely  what  cause  is  to  effect.  But,  if  the  discoverer 
lacked  genius,  it  is  a  sad  thing  both  for  France  and 
for  human  reason  to  have  to  say  that  a  science  con- 
temporaneous with  civilization,  cultivated  by  Egypt 
and  Chaldea,  by  Greece  and  India,  met  in  Paris  in 
the  eighteenth  centur}'  the  fate  that  Truth  in  the  person 
of  Galileo  found  in  the  sixteenth  ;  and  that  magnetism 
was  rejected  and  cast  out  by  the  combined  attacks  of 
science  and  religion,  alarmed  for  their  own  positions. 
Magnetism,  the  favorite  science  of  Jesus  Christ  and  one 
of  the  divine  powers  which  he  gave  to  his  disciples, 
was  no  better  apprehended  by  the  Church  than  b}' 
the  disciples  of  Jean-Jacques,  Voltaire,  Locke,  and 
Condillac.  The  Encyclopedists  and  the  clergy  were 
equally  averse  to  the  old  human  power  which  they 
took  to  be  new.  The  miracles  of  the  convulsionaries, 
suppressed  by  the  Church  and  smothered  b}'  the  in- 
différence of  scientific  men  (in  spite  of  the  precious 
writings  of  the  Councillor,  Carré  de  Montgeron)  were 
the    first   summons   to   make   experiments   with   those 


92  Ursula. 

human  fluids  which  give  power  to  emplo}'  certain  in- 
ward forces  to  neutralize  the  sufferings  caused  by 
outward  agents.  But  to  do  this  it  was  necessary 
to  admit  the  existence  of  fluids  intangible,  invisible, 
imponderable,  three  negative  terms  in  which  the  sci- 
ence of  that  day  chose  to  see  a  definition  of  the 
void.  In  modern  philosophy  there  is  no  void.  Ten 
feet  of  void  and  the  world  crumbles  awa}-  !  To  ma- 
terialists especially  the  world  is  full,  all  tilings  hang 
together,  are  linked,  related,  organized.  "The  world 
as  the  result  of  chance,"  said  Diderot,  "is  more  ex- 
plicable than  God.  The  multiplicity  of  causes,  the 
incalculable  number  of  issues  presupposed  by  chance, 
explain  creation.  Take  the  Eneid  and  all  the  letters 
composing  it  ;  if  3'ou  allow  me  time  and  space,  I  can, 
by  continuing  to  cast  the  letters,  arrive  at  last  at  the 
Eneid  combination." 

These  foolish  persons  who  deify  all  rather  than  admit 
a  God  recoil  before  the  infinite  divisibility  of  matter 
which  is  in  the  nature  of  imponderable  forces.  Locke 
and  Condillac  retarded  by  fifty  j-ears  the  immense  pro- 
gress which  natural  science  is  now  making  under  the 
great  principle  of  unity  due  to  Geoff'roy  de  Saint- 
Hilaire.  Some  intelligent  persons,  without  an}'  S3'stem, 
convinced  b}'^  facts  conscientiousl}'  studied,  still  hold  ta 
Mesmer's  doctrine,  which  recognizes  the  existence  of  a 
penetrative  influence  acting  from   man  to  man,  put  in 


Ursula.  93 

motion  by  the  will,  curative  by  the  abundance  of  the 
fluid,  the  working  of  which  is  in  fact  a  duel  between 
two  forces,  between  an  ill  to  be  cured  and  the  will  to 
cure  it. 

The  phenomena  of  somnambulism,  hardl}-  perceived 
by  Mesmer,  were  revealed  hy  de  Puységur  and  Deleuze  ; 
but  the  Revolution  put  a  stop  to  their  discoveries  and 
played  into  the  hands  of  the  scientists  and  scoffers. 
Among  the  small  number  of  believers  were  a  few  phy- 
sicians. They  were  persecuted  by  their  brethren  as 
long  as  they  lived.  The  respectable  bod}'  of  Parisian 
doctors  displa3-ed  all  the  bitterness  of  religious  warfare 
against  the  Mesmerists,  and  were  as  cruel  in  their 
hatred  as  it  was  possible  to  be  in  those  days  of  Vol- 
tairean  tolerance.  The  orthodox  ph3-sicians  refused  to 
consult  with  those  who  adopted  the  Mesmerian  heres}'. 
In  1820  these  heretics  were  still  proscribed.  The  miser- 
ies and  sorrows  of  the  Eevolutiou  had  not  quenched  the 
scientific  hatred.  It  is  only  priests,  magistrates,  and 
physicians  who  can  hate  in  that  wa}'.  The  official  robe 
is  terrible  !  But  ideas  are  even  more  implacable  than 
things. 

Doctor  Bouvard,  one  of  Minoret's  friends,  believed  in 
the  new  faith,  and  persevered  to  the  day  of  his  death  in 
studying  a  science  to  which  he  sacrificed  the  peace  of 
his  life,  for  he  was  one  of  the  chief  bêtes  noires  of  the 
Parisian  faculty.     Minoret,  a  valiant  supporter  of  the 


94  Ursula. 

Enc3'clopedists,  and  a  formidable  adversary  of  Deslon, 
Mesmer's  assistant,  whose  pen  had  great  weight  in  the 
controversy,  quarrelled  with  his  old  friend,  and  not  only 
that,  but  he  persecuted  him.  His  conduct  to  Bouvard 
must  have  caused  him  the  only  remorse  which  troubled 
the  serenity  of  his  declining  years.  Since  his  retire- 
ment to  Nemours  the  science  of  imponderable  fluids 
(the  only  name  suitable  for  magnetism,  which,  by  the 
nature  of  its  phenomena,  is  closel}'  allied  to  light  and 
electricity)  had  made  immense  progress,  in  spite  of  the 
ridicule  of  Parisian  scientists.  Phrenology  and  phj'si- 
ognomy,  the  departments  of  Gall  and  Lavater  (which 
are  in  fact  twins,  for  one  is  to  the  other  as  cause  is  to 
effect) ,  proved  to  the  minds  of  more  than  one  physiolo- 
gist the  existence  of  an  intangible  fluid  which  is  the 
basis  of  the  phenomena  of  the  human  will,  and  from 
which  result  passions,  habits,  the  shape  of  faces  and 
of  skulls.  Magnetic  facts,  the  miracles  of  somnambu- 
lism, those  of  divination  and  ecstas3-,  which  open  a  way 
to  the  spiritual  world,  were  fast  accumulating.  The 
strange  tale  of  the  apparitions  of  the  farmer  Martin,  so 
clearly  proved,  and  his  interview  with  Louis  XVIII.  ; 
a  knowledge  of  the  intercourse  of  Swedenborg  with  the 
departed,  carefully  investigated  in  Germany  ;  the  tales 
of  Walter  Scott  on  the  effects  of  ''  second  sight  ;  "  the 
extraordinary  faculties  of  some  fortune-tellers,  who  prac- 
tise as  a  single  science  chiromancy,  cartomancy,  and  the 


Ursula.  95 

lioroscope  ;  the  facts  of  catalepsj',  and  those  of  the  ac- 
tion of  certain  niorhid  affections  on  the  properties  of 
the  diaphragm,  —  all  such  phenomena,  curious,  to  say 
the  least,  each  emanating  from  the  same  source,  were 
now  undermining  many  scepticisms  and  leading  even 
the  most  indifferent  minds  to  the  plane  of  experiments. 
Minoret,  buried  in  Nemours,  was  ignorant  of  this 
movement  of  minds,  strong  in  the  north  of  Europe 
but  still  weak  in  France  where,  however,  man}'  facts 
called  marvellous  b}'  superficial  observers,  were  happen- 
ing, but  falling,  alas  !  like  stones  to  the  bottom  of  the 
sea,  in  the  vortex  of  Parisian  excitements. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  present  3'ear  the  doctor's 
tranquillit}^  was  shaken  b}'  the  following  letter  :  — 

My  old  comrade,  —  All  fripndship,  even  if  lost,  has 
rights  which  it  is  difficult  to  set  aside.  I  know  that  you  are 
still  living,  and  I  remember  far  less  our  enmity  than  our 
happy  days  in  that  old  hovel  of  Saint-Julien-le-Pauvre. 

At  a  time  when  I  expect  to  soon  leave  the  world  I  have  it 
on  my  heart  to  prove  to  you  that  magnetism  is  about  to 
become  one  of  the  most  important  of  the  sciences  —  if  indeed 
all  science  is  not  one.  I  can  overcome  your  incredulity  by 
proof.  Perhaps  I  shall  owe  to  your  curiosity  the  happiness 
of  taking  you  once  more  by  the  hand  —  as  in  the  days  before 
Mesmer.  Always  yours, 

Bouvard. 

Stung  like  a  lion  by  a  gadfly  the  old  scientist  rushed 
to  Paris  and  left  his  card  on  Bouvard,  who  lived  in  the 


96  Ursula. 

Rue  Férou  near  Saint-Sulpice.  Bouvard  sent  a  card 
to  his  hotel  on  which  was  written  "  To-morrow  ;  nine 
o'clock,  Rue  Saint-Honoré,  opposite  the  Assumption." 

Minoret,  who  seemed  to  have  renewed  his  ^outh, 
could  not  sleep.  He  went  to  see  some  of  his  friends 
among  the  faculty  to  inquire  if  the  world  were  turned 
upside  down,  if  the  science  of  medicine  still  had  a  school, 
if  the  four  faculties  an}-  longer  existed.  The  doctors 
reassured  him,  declaring  that  the  old  spirit  of  opposi- 
tion was  as  strong  as  ever,  onh',  instead  of  persecut- 
ing as  heretofore,  the  Academies  of  Medicine  and  of 
Sciences  rang  with  laughter  as  the}'  classed  magnetic 
facts  with  the  tricks  of  Comus  and  Comte  and  Bosco, 
with  juggler}'  and  prestidigitation  and  all  that  now 
went  by  the  name  of  "  amusing  physics." 

This  assurance  did  not  prevent  old  Minoret  from 
keeping  the  appointment  made  for  him  by  Bouvard. 
After  an  enmity  of  fort3'-four  j'cars  the  two  antago- 
nists met  beneath  a  porte-cochere  in  the  Rue  Saint- 
Honoré.  Frenchmen  have  too  manj'  distractions  of 
mind  to  hate  each  other  long.  In  Paris  especiall}',  pol- 
itics, literature,  and  science  render  life  so  vast  that 
ever}'  man  can  find  new  woi'lds  to  conquer  whei'c  all 
pretensions  may  live  at  ease.  Hatred  requires  too 
many  forces  fully  armed.  None  but  public  bodies  can 
keep  alive  the  sentiment.  Robespierre  and  Danton 
would  have  fallen  into  each  other's  arms  at  the  end  of 


Ursula.  97 

forty-four  3'ears.  However,  the  two  doctors  each  withheld 
his  hand  and  did  not  offer  it.     Bouvard  spoke  first  :  — 

"  You  seena  wonderful! v  well." 

"  Yes,  I  am  —  and  you?  "  said  Minoret,  feeling  that 
the  ice  was  now  broken. 

"  As  you  see." 

"Does  magnetism  prevent  people  from  d^'ing?" 
asked  Minoret  in  a  joking  tone,  but  without  sharpness. 

"  No,  but  it  almost  prevented  me  from  living." 

"  Then  j'ou  are  not  rich?  "  exclaimed  Minoret. 

"  Pooh  1  "  said  Bouvard. 

"  But  I  am  !  "  cried  the  other. 

"It  is  not  your  mone^'  but  your  convictions  that  I 
want.     Come,"  replied  Bouvard. 

"  Oh  !  you  obstinate  fellow  !  "  said  Minoret. 

The  Mesmerist  led  his  sceptic,  with  some  precaution, 
up  a  dingy  staircase  to  the  fourth  floor. 

At  this  particular  time  an  extraordinary  man  had 
appeared  in  Paris,  endowed  by  faith  with  incalculable 
power,  and  controlling  magnetic  forces  in  all  their  appli- 
cations. Not  only  did  this  great  unknown  (who  still 
lives)  heal  from  a  distance  the  worst  and  most  inveter- 
ate diseases,  suddenly  and  radically,  as  the  Saviour  of 
men  did  formerly-,  but  he  was  also  able  to  call  forth 
instantaneously  the  most  remarkable  phenomena  of 
somnambulism  and  conquer  the  most  rebellious  will. 
The  countenance  of  this  mysterious  being,  who  claims 

7 


98  Ursula. 

to  be  responsible  to  God  alone  and  to  commnnicate, 
like  Swedenborg,  with  angels,  resembles  that  of  a  lion  ; 
concentrated,  irresistible  energy  shines  in  it.  His 
features,  singularly  contorted,  have  a  terrible  and  even 
blasting  aspect.  His  voice,  which  comes  from  the 
depths  of  his  being,  seems  charged  with  some  magnetic 
fluid  ;  it  penetrates  the  hearer  at  every  pore.  Dis- 
gusted by  the  ingratitude  of  the  public  after  his  many 
cures,  he  has  now  returned  to  an  impenetrable  solitude, 
a  voluntary  nothingness.  His  all-powerful  hand,  which 
has  restored  a  dying  daughter  to  her  mother,  fathers 
to  their  grief-stricken  children,  adored  mistresses  to 
lovers  frenzied  with  love,  cured  the  sick  given  over  by 
physicians,  soothed  the  sufferings  of  the  dymg  when 
life  became  impossible,  wrung  psalms  of  thanksgiving 
in  synagogues,  temples,  and  churches  from  the  lips  of 
priests  recalled  to  the  one  God  by  the  same  miracle,  — 
that  sovereign  hand,  a  sun  of  life  dazzling  the  closed 
eyes  of  the  somnambulist,  has  never  been  raised  again 
even  to  save  the  heir- apparent  of  a  kingdom.  Wrapped 
in  the  memory  of  his  past  mercies  as  in  a  luminous 
shroud,  he  denies  himself  to  the  world  and  lives  for 
heaven. 

But,  at  the  dawn  of  his  reign,  surprised  by  his  own 
gift,  this  man,  whose  generosity  equalled  his  power, 
allowed  a  few  interested  persons  to  witness  his  miracles. 
The   fame  of  his  work,  which  was  miglity,  and  could 


Ursula.  99 

easily  be  revived  to-morrow,  reached  Dr.  Bouvard,  who 
was  then  on  the  verge  of  the  grave.  The  persecuted 
mesmerist  was  at  last  enabled  to  witness  the  startling 
phenomena  of  a  science  he  had  long  treasured  in  his 
heart.  The  sacrifices  of  the  old  man  touched  the  heart 
of  the  mysterious  stranger,  who  accorded  him  certain 
privileges.  As  Bouvard  now  went  up  the  staircase  he 
listened  to  the  twittings  of  his  old  antagonist  with  ma- 
licious delight,  answering  onl}',  "  You  shall  see,  you 
shall  see  !  "  with  the  emphatic  little  nods  of  a  man  who 
is  sui'e  of  his  facts. 

The  two  physicians  entered  a  suite  of  rooms  that  were 
more  than  modest.  Bouvard  went  alone  into  a  bedroom 
which  adjoined  the  salon  where  he  left  Minoret,  whose 
distrust  was  instantly  awakened  ;  but  Bouvard  returned 
at  once  and  took  him  into  the  bedroom,  where  he  saw 
the  mysterious  Swedenborgian,  and  also  a  woman  sit- 
ting in  an  armchair.  The  woman  did  not  rise,  and 
seemed  not  to  notice  the  entrance  of  the  two  old  men. 

"What!  no  tub?"  cried  Minoret,  smiling. 

"Nothing  but  the  power  of  God,"  answered  the 
Swedenborgian  gravely.  He  seemed  to  Minoret  to  be 
about  fifty  years  of  age. 

The  three  men  sat  down  and  the  mysterious  stranger 
talked  of  the  rain  and  the  coming  fine  weather,  to  the 
great  astonishment  of  Minoret,  who  thought  he  was 
being  hoaxed.     The  Swedenborgian  soon  began,  how- 


100  Ursula. 

ever,  to  question  his  visitor  on  his  scientific  opinions, 
and  seemed  evidently  to  be  talking  time  to  examine  him. 
"  You  have  come  here  solely  from  curiosity,  mon- 
sieur," he  said  at  last.  "  It  is  not  ray  habit  to  prosti- 
tute a  power  which,  according  to  my  conviction,  ema- 
nates from  God  ;  if  I  made  a  frivolous  or  unworthy  use 
of  it,  it  would  be  taken  from  me.  Nevertheless,  there 
is  some  hope,  Monsieur  Bouvard  tells  me,  of  changing 
the  opinions  of  one  who  has  opposed  us,  of  enlightening 
a  scientific  man  whose  mind  is  candid  ;  I  have  therefore 
determined  to  satisfy  3-ou.  That  woman  whom  yon  see 
there,"  he  continued,  pointing  to  her,  ''  is  now  in  a 
somnambulic  sleep.  The  statements  and  manifestations 
of  somnambulists  declare  that  this  state  is  a  delightful 
other  life,  during  which  the  inner  being,  freed  from  the 
trammels  laid  upon  the  exercise  of  our  faculties  by  the 
visible  world,  moves  in  a  world  which  we  mistakenly 
term  invisible.  Sight  and  hearing  are  then  exercised 
in  a  manner  far  more  perfect  than  any  we  know  of  here, 
possibly  without  the  help  of  the  organs  we  now  employ, 
which  are  the  scabbard  of  the  luminous  blades  called 
sight  and  hearing.  To  a  person  in  that  state,  distance 
and  material  obstacles  do  not  exist,  or  they  can  be 
traversed  b}-  a  life  within  us  for  which  our  body  is  a 
mere  receptacle,  a  necessar}'  shelter,  a  casing.  Terms 
fail  to  describe  effects  that  have  lately  been  rediscovered, 
for  to-day  the  words  imponderable,  intangible,  invisible 


Ursula.  101 

have  no  mcfining  in  relation  to  the  fluid  whose  action  is 
demonstrated  by  magnetism.  Light  is  ponderable  b}' 
its  heat,  which,  by  penetrating  bodies,  increases  their 
volume  ;  and  certainly  electricitj'  is  only  too  tangible. 
We  have  condemned  things  themselves  instead  of  blam- 
ing the  imperfection  of  our  instruments." 

"  She  sleeps,"  said  Minoret,  examining  the  woman, 
who  seemed  to  him  to  belong  to  an  inferior  class. 

"  Her  body  is  for  the  time  being  in  abeyance,"  said 
the  Swedenborgian.  "  Ignorant  persons  suppose  that 
condition  to  be  sleep.  But  she  will  prove  to  you  that 
there  is  a  spiritual  universe,  and  that  the  mind  when  there 
does  not  obej'  the  laws  of  this  material  universe.  I 
will  send  her  wherever  you  wish  her  to  go,  —  a  hundred 
miles  from  here  or  to  China,  as  you  will.  She  will  tell 
you  what  is  happening  there." 

"  Send  her  to  my  house  in  Nemours,  Rue  des  Bour- 
geois ;  that  will  do,"  said  Minoret. 

He  took  Minoret's  hand,  which  the  doctor  let  him 
take,  and  held  it  for  a  moment  seeming  to  collect  him- 
self; then  with  his  other  hand  he  took  that  of  the  woman 
sitting  in  the  arm-chair  and  placed  the  hand  of  the  doc- 
tor in  it,  making  a  sign  to  the  old  sceptic  to  seat  himself 
beside  this  oracle  without  a  tripod.  Minoret  observed 
a  slight  tremor  on  the  absolutely  calm  features  of  the 
woman  when  their  hands  were  thus  united  by  the 
Swedenborgian,  but  the  action,  though  marvellous  in 
its  effects,  was  ver}'  simply  done. 


102  Ursula. 

"  Obe}'  him,"  said  the  unknown  personage,  extending 
his  hand  above  the  head  of  the  sleeping  woman,  who 
seemed  to  imbibe  both  light  and  life  from  him,  "  and 
remember  that  what  3'ou  do  for  him  will  please  me.  — 
You  can  now  speak  to  her,"  he  added,  addressing 
Minore  t. 

"  Go  to  Nemours,  to  my  house.  Rue  des  Bourgeois," 
said  the  doctor. 

"  Give  her  time  ;  put  3-our  hand  in  hers  until  she 
proves  to  you  b}'  what  she  tells  you  tliat  she  is  where 
you  wish  her  to  be,"  said  Bouvard  to  his  old  friend, 

"  I  see  a  river,"  said  the  woman  in  a  feeble  voice, 
seeming  to  look  within  herself  with  deep  attention, 
notwithstanding  her  closed  eyelids.  "I  see  a  pretty 
garden  —  " 

"  Why  do  3'OU  enter  by  the  river  and  the  garden  ?  " 
said  Minoret. 

"  Because  they  are  there." 

"Who?" 

"  The  30ung  girl  and  her  nurse,  whom  30U  are  think- 
ing of." 

"  What  is  the  garden  like?"  said  Minoret. 

"  Entering  by  the  steps  which  go  down  to  the  river, 
there  is  to  the  right,  a  long  brick  galleiy,  in  which  I 
see  books  ;  it  ends  in  a  singular  building,  —  there  are 
wooden  bells,  and  a  pattern  of  red  eggs.  To  the  left, 
the  wall  is  covered  with  climbing  plants,  wild  grapes. 


Ursula,  103 

Virginia  jessamine.  In  ttie  middle  is  a  sun-dial.  There 
are  many  plants  in  pots.  Your  child  is  loolving  at  the 
flowers.  She  shows  them  to  her  nurse  —  she  is  making 
holes  in  the  earth  with  her  trowel,  and  planting  seeds. 
The  nurse  is  raking  the  path.  The  3'oung  girl  is  pure 
as  an  angel,  but  the  beginning  of  love  is  there,  faint 
as  the  dawn  —  " 

"Love  for  whom?"  asked  the  doctor,  who,  until 
now,  would  have  listened  to  no  word  said  to  him  by 
somnambulists.     He  considered  it  all  jugglery. 

"  You  know  nothing  —  though  3'ou  have  latel}'  been 
uneas}-  about  her  health,"  answered  the  woman.  "  Her 
heart  has  followed  the  dictates  of  nature." 

"A  woman  of  the  people  to  talk  like  this!"  cried 
the  doctor. 

"  In  the  state  she  is  in  all  persons  speak  with  ex- 
traordinary perception,"  said  Bouvard. 

"  But  who  is  it  that  Ursula  loves  ?  " 

"Ursula  does  not  know  that  she  loves,"  said  the 
woman  with  a  shake  of  the  head;  "  she  is  too  angelic 
to  know  what  love  is  ;  but  her  mind  is  occupied  hy  him  ; 
she  thinks  of  him  ;  she  tries  to  escape  the  thought  ;  but 
she  returns  to  it  in  spite  of  her  will  to  abstain.  —  She 
is  at  the  piano  —  " 

"But  who  is  he?" 

"  The  son  of  a  lad}  who  lives  opposite." 

"■  Madame  de  Portenduère?" 


104  Ursula. 

"  Portenduère,  did  yo\x  saj'?"  replied  the  sleeper. 
"  Perhaps  so.  But  there  's  no  danger  ;  he  is  not  in  the 
neighborhood." 

"  Plave  they  spoken  to  each  other?"  asked  the 
doctor. 

"  Never.  The}-  have  looked  at  one  another.  She 
thinks  him  charming.  He  is,  in  fact,  a  fine  man  ;  he 
has  a  good  heart.  She  sees  him  from  her  window  ;  they 
see  each  other  in  church.  But  the  young  man  no  longer 
thinks  of  her." 

"  His  name?" 

"  Ah  !  to  tell  you  that  I  must  read  it,  or  hear  it. 
He  is  named  Savinien  ;  she  has  just  spoken  his  name  ; 
she  thinks  it  sweet  to  sa^'  ;  she  has  looked  in  the 
almanac  for  his  fète-day  and  marked  a  red  dot  against 
it,  —  child's  play,  that.  Ah  !  she  will  love  well,  with  as 
much  strength  as  purity  ;  she  is  not  a  girl  to  love  twice  ; 
love  will  so  dye  her  soul  and  fill  it  that  she  will  reject' 
all  other  sentiments." 

"  Where  do  3'ou  see  that?  " 

"  In  her.  She  will  know  how  to  suffer  ;  she  inherits 
that  ;  her  father  and  her  mother  suffered  much." 

The  last  words  overcame  the  doctor,  who  felt  less 
shaken  than  surprised.  It  is  proper  to  state  that  be- 
tween her  sentences  the  woman  paused  for  several 
minutes,  during  which  time  her  attention  became  more 
and   more  concentrated.     She   was    seen   to   see  ;   her 


Ursula.  105 

forehead  had  a  singular  aspect  ;  an  inward  effort  ap- 
peared there  ;  it  seemed  to  clear  or  cloud  by  some 
m3'sterious  power,  the  effects  of  which  Minoret  had 
seen  in  dying  persons  at  moments  when  they  appeared 
to  have  the  gift  of  prophecy.  Several  times  she  made 
gestures  which  resembled  those  of  Ursula. 

"Question  her,"  said  the  mysterious  stranger,  to 
Minoi'et,  "  she  will  tell  you  secrets  yon  alone  can  know." 

"  Does  Ursula  love  me?  "  asked  IMinoret. 

"  Almost  as  much  as  she  loves  God,"  was  the  answer. 
"  But  she  is  very  unhapp}'  at  3'our  unbelief.  You  do 
not  believe  in  God  ;  as  if  3'ou  could  prevent  his  exis- 
tence !  His  word  fills  the  universe.  You  are  the 
cause  of  her  onl}'  sorrow.  —  Hear  !  she  is  playing 
scales  ;  she  longs  to  be  a  better  musician  than  she  is  ; 
she  is  provoked  with  herself.  She  is  thinking,  '  If  I 
could  sing,  if  my  voice  were  fine,  it  would  reach  his 
ear  when  he  is  with  his  mother.'  " 

Doctor  Minoret  took  out  his  pocket-book  and  noted 
the  hour. 

"  Tell  me  what  seeds  she  planted  ?  " 

"Mignonette,  sweet-peas,  balsams  —  " 

"  And  what  else?  " 

"  Larkspur." 

"  Where  is  my  money  ?  " 

"  With  your  notary  ;  but  j^ou  invest  it  so  as  not  to 
lose  the  interest  of  a  single  day." 


106  Ursula. 

"  Yes,  but  where  is  the  money  that  I  keep  for  my 
monthl}'  expenses  ?  " 

"  You  put  it  in  a  large  book  bound  in  red,  entitled 
'Pandects  of  Justinian,  Vol.  II.'  between  the  last  two 
leaves  ;  the  book  is  on  the  shelf  of  folios  above  the 
glass  buffet.  You  have  a  whole  row  of  them.  Your 
money  is  in  the  last  volume  next  to  the  salon  —  See  ! 
Vol.  III.  is  before  Vol.  II.  —  but  you  have  no  money,  it 
is  all  in  —  " 

'  '  —  thousand-franc  notes,"  said  the  doctor. 

"  I  cannot  see,  they  are  folded.  Xo,  there  are  two 
notes  of  five  hundred  francs." 

"  You  see  them?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  How  do  they  look?  " 

''One  is  old  and  yellow,  the  other  white  and  new." 

This  last  phase  of  the  inquiry  petrified  tiie  doctor. 
He  looked  at  Bouvard  with  a  bewildered  air  ;  but 
Bouvard  and  the  Swedenborgian,  who  were  accustomed 
to  the  amazement  of  sceptics,  were  speaking  together 
iu  a  low  voice  and  appeared  not  to  notice  him.  Mino- 
ret  begged  them  to  allow  him  to  return  after  dinner. 
The  old  philosopher  wished  to  compose  his  mind  and 
shake  off  this  terror,  so  as  to  put  this  vast  power  to 
some  new  test,  to  subject  it  to  more  decisive  experi- 
ments and  obtain  answers  to  certain  questions,  the  truth 
of  whicli  should  do  away  with  every  sort  of  doubt. 


Ursula.  107 

"  Be  here  at  nine  o'clock  this  evening,"  said  the 
stranger.     "  I  will  return  to  meet  you." 

Doctor  Minoret  was  in  so  convulsed  a  state  that  he 
left  the  room  without  bowing,  followed  by  Bouvard,  who 
called  to  him  from  behind,  "Well,  what  do  you  say? 
what  do  you  say  ?  " 

"  I  think  I  am  mad,  Bouvard,"  answered  Minoret 
from  the  steps  of  the  porte-cochere.  "  If  that  woman 
tells  the  truth  about  Ursula,  —  and  none  but  Ursula  can 
know  the  things  that  sorceress  has  told  me,  —  I  shall 
say  that  you  are  right.  I  wish  I  had  wings  to  fly  to 
Nemours  this  minute  and  verify  her  words.  But  I  shall 
hire  a  carriage  and  start  at  ten  o'clock  to-night.  Ah  ! 
am  I  losing  ni}'  senses  ?  " 

"  What  would  you  say  if  you  knew  of  a  life-long 
incurable  disease  healed  in  a  moment  ;  if  you  saw 
that  great  magnetizer  bring  sweat  in  torrents  from  an 
berj^etic  patient,  or  make  a  paralyzed  woman  walk?  ' 

"  Come  and  dine,  Bouvard  ;  sta^-  with  me  till  nine 
o'clock.     I  must  find  some  decisive,  undeniable  test  !  " 

"  So  be  it,  old  comrade,"  answered  the  other. 

The  reconciled  enemies  dined  in  the  Palais-Royal. 
After  a  lively  conversation,  which  helped  Minoret  to 
evade  the  fever  of  the  ideas  which  were  ravaging  his 
brain,  Bouvard  said  to  him  :  — 

"  If  you  admit  in  that  woman  the  faculty  of  annihi- 
lating or  of  traversing  space,  if  j'ou  obtain  a  certainty 


108  ,  Ursula. 

that  here,  in  Paris,  she  sees  and  hears  what  is  said  and 
done  in  Nemours,  you  must  admit  all  other  magnetic 
facts  ;  they  are  not  more  incredible  than  these.  Ask 
her  for  some  one  proof  which  you  know  will  satisfy  you 
—  for  you  might  suppose  that  we  obtained  informa- 
tion to  deceive  you  ;  but  we  cannot  know,  for  instance, 
what  will  happen  at  nine  o'clock  in  jour  goddaughter's 
bedroom.  Remember,  or  write  down,  what  the  sleeper 
w-ill  see  and  hear,  and  then  go  home.  Your  little 
Ursula,  whom  I  do  not  know,  is  not  our  accomplice, 
and  if  she  tells  you  that  she  has  said  and  done 
what  you  have  written  down  —  lower  thy  head,  proud 
Hun  !  " 

The  two  friends  returned  to  the  house  opposite  to  the 
Assumption  and  found  the  somnambulist,  who  in  her 
waking  state  did  not  recognize  Doctor  Minoret.  The 
eyes  of  this  woman  closed  gentl}'  before  the  hand  of 
the  Swedenborgian,  which  was  stretched  towards  her  at 
a  little  distance,  and  she  took  the  attitude  in  which 
Minoret  had  first  seen  her.  When  her  hand  and  that  of 
the  doctor  were  again  joined,  he  asked  her  to  tell  him 
what  was  happening  in  his  house  at  Nemours  at  that 
instant.     "  What  is  Ursula  doing?"  he  said. 

"  3he  is  undressed;  she  has  just  curled  her  hair; 
she  is  kneeling  on  her  prie-Dieu,  before  an  ivory  cru- 
cifix fastened  to  a  red  velvet  background." 

"'  What  is  she  saying?  " 


Ursula.  109 

"  Her  evening  pra3'ers  ;  she  is  commending  lierself 
to  God  ;  she  implores  him  to  save  her  soul  from  evil 
thoughts  ;  she  examines  her  conscience  and  recalls 
what  she  has  done  during  the  day  ;  that  she  may  know 
if  she  has  failed  to  obey  his  commands  and  those  of 
the  church  —  poor  dear  little  soul,  she  lays  bare  her 
breast  !  "  Tears  were  in  the  sleeper's  eyes,  "  She  has 
done  no  sin,  but  she  blames  herself  for  thinking  too 
much  of  Savinien,  She  stops  to  wonder  what  he  is 
doing  in  Paris  ;  she  prajs  to  God  to  make  him  happy. 
She  speaks  of  you  ;  she  is  praying  aloud." 

"Tell  me  her  words."  Minoret  took  his  pencil  and 
wrote,  as  the  sleeper  uttered  it,  the  following  prayer, 
evidently  composed  by  the  Abbe  Chaperon. 

"My  God,  if  thou  art  content  with  thine  handmaid, 
who  worships  thee  and  pra^-s  to  thee  with  a  love  that  is 
equal  to  her  devotion,  who  strives  not  to  wander  from 
th3'  sacred  paths,  who  would  gladly  die  as  thy  Son  died 
to  glorif)'  thy  name,  who  desires  to  live  in  the  shadow 
of  thy  will  —  O  God,  who  knoweth  the  heart,  open 
the  eyes  of  my  godfather,  lead  him  in  the  waj'  of 
salvation,  grant  him  thy  Divine  grace,  that  he  ma}' 
live  for  thee  in  his  last  days  ;  save  him  from  evil,  and 
let  me  suffer  in  his  stead.  Kind  Saint  Ursula,  dear 
protectress,  and  3'ou,  Mother  of  God,  queen  of  heaven, 
archangels,  and  saints  in  Paradise,  hear  me  !  join  your 
intercessions  to  mine  and  have  mercy  upon  us." 


110  Ursula. 

The  sleeper  imitated  so  perfeetl}'  the  artless  gestures 
and  the  inspired  manner  of  his  child  that  Doctor 
Minoret's  e3es  were  filled  with  tears, 

"  Does  she  saj'  more?"  he  asked. 

"Yes." 

"Eepeatit." 

''  '  My  dear  godfather  ;  I  wonder  who  plan's  back- 
gammon with  him  in  Paris.'  She  has  blown  out  the 
light  —  her  head  is  on  the  pillow  —  she  turns  to  sleep  ! 
Ah,  she  is  off!  How  pretty  she  looks  in  her  little 
night-cap." 

Minoret  bowed  to  the  great  Unknown,  wrung  Bou- 
vard b}'  the  hand,  ran  downstairs  and  hastened  to  a 
cab-stand  which  at  that  time  was  near  the  gates  of  a 
house  since  pulled  down  to  make  room  for  the  Rue 
d'Alger.  There  he  found  a  coachman  who  was  willing 
to  start  immediately  for  Fontainebleau.  The  moment 
the  price  was  agreed  on,  the  old  man,  who  seemed  to 
have  renewed  his  youth,  jumped  into  the  carriage  and 
started.  According  to  agreement,  he  stopped  to  rest  the 
horse  at  Essonne,  but  arrived  at  Fontainebleau  in  time 
for  the  diligence  to  Nemours,  on  which  he  secured  a 
seat,  and  dismissed  his  coachman.  He  reached  home 
at  five  in  the  morning  and  went  to  bed,  with  his  life-long 
ideas  of  physiologv,  nature,  and  metaphysics  in  ruins 
about  him,  and  slept  till  nine  o'clock,  so  wearied  was 
he  with  the  events  of  his  journey. 


Ursula.  Ill 


VIT. 

A  TWO-FOLD    CONVERSION. 

On  rising,  the  cloctoi-,  sure  that  no  one  had  crossed 
the  thresliold  of  his  house  since  he  re-entered  it, 
proceeded  (but  not  witliout  extreme  trepidation)  to 
verify  his  facts.  He  was  himself  ignorant  of  any 
difference  in  the  bank-notes  and  also  of  the  misplace- 
ment of  the  Pandect  vohimes.  The  somnambulist  was 
right.     The  doctor  rang  for  La  Rougival. 

"  Tell  Ursula  to  come  and  speak  to  me,"  he  said, 
seating  himself  in  the  centre  of  his  library-. 

The  girl  came  ;  she  ran  up  to  him  and  kissed  him. 
The  doctor  took  her  on  his  knee,  where  she  sat  con- 
tentedly, mingliug  her  soft  fair  curls  with  the  white 
hair  of  her  old  friend. 

"Do  3-ou  want  something,  godfather?" 

"  Yes  ;  but  promise  me,  on  your  salvation,  to  an- 
swer frankly,  without  evasion,  the  questions  that  I 
sliall  put  to  you." 

Ursula  colored  to  the  temples. 

"Oil!  I'll  ask  notliing  tliat  you  cannot  speak  of," 
he  said,  noticing  how  the  bashfuhiess  of  J'oung  love 
clouded  the  hitherto  childlike  purity  of  the  girl's  blue 
eyes. 


112  Ursula. 

"Ask  me,  godfather." 

"  What  thought  was  in  5-our  mind  whsn  j-ou  ended 
your  prayers  last  evening,  and  what  time  was  it  when 
you  said  them." 

"  It  was  a  quarter-past  or  half-past  nine." 

"  "Well,  repeat  your  last  prayer." 

The  girl  fancied  that  her  voice  might  conve}'  her  faith 
to  the  sceptic  ;  she  slid  from  his  knee  and  knelt  down, 
clasping  her  hands  fervently  ;  a  brilliant  light  illumined 
her  face  as  she  turned  it  on  the  old  man  and  said  :  — 

"  What  I  asked  of  God  last  night  I  asked  again 
this  morning,  and  I  shall  ask  it  till  he  vouchsafes 
to  grant  it." 

Then  she  repeated  her  prayer  with  new  and  still 
more  powerful  expression.  To  her  great  astonishment 
her  godfather  took  the  last  words  from  her  mouth 
and  finished  the  prajer. 

"Good,  Ursula,"  said  the  doctor,  taking  her  again 
on  his  knee.  ''  When  you  laid  your  head  on  the 
pillow  and  went  to  sleep  did  3-ou  think  to  yourself, 
'That  dear  godfather;  I  wonder  who  is  playing  back- 
gammon with  him  in  Paris'?" 

Ursula  sprang  up  as  if  the  last  trumpet  had  sounded 
in  her  ears.  She  gave  a  cr^-  of  terror  ;  her  eyes,  wide 
open,  gazed  at  the  old  man  with  awful  fixity. 

"  Who  are  yon,  godiather?  From  whom  do  j-ou 
get   such  power?"    she   asked,  imagining  that  in    his 


Ursula.  113 

desire  to  deny  God  he  had  made  some  compact  with 
the  devil. 

"  What  seeds  did  you  plant  yesterday  in  the  garden?  " 

"Mignonette,  sweet-peas,  balsams  —  " 

"  And  the  last  w^ere  larkspur?  " 

She  fell  on  her  knees. 

"  Do  not  terrify  me  !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  Oh  you  must 
have  been  here  —  you  were  here,  were  you  not  ?  " 

"Am  I  not  always  with  you?"  replied  the  doctor, 
evading  her  question,  to  save  the  strain  on  the  young 
girl's  mind.     "  Let  us  go  to  your  room." 

"  Your  legs  are  trembling,"  she  said. 

"  Yes,  I  am  confounded,  as  it  were." 

"Can  it  be  that  you  believe  in  God?"  she  cried, 
with  artless  joy,  letting  fall  the  tears  that  gathered  in 
her  eyes. 

The  old  man  looked  round  the  simple  but  dainty 
little  room  he  had  given  to  his  Ursula.  On  the  floor 
was  a  plain  green  carpet,  very  inexpensive,  which  she 
herself  kept  exquisitely  clean  ;  the  walls  were  hung  with 
a  gray  paper  strewn  with  roses  and  green  leaves  ;  at 
the  windows,  which  looked  to  the  court,  were  calico 
curtains  edged  with  a  band  of  some  pink  material; 
between  the  windows  and  beneath  a  tall  mirror  was 
a  pier-table  topped  with  marble,  on  which  stood  a 
Sèvres  vase  in  which  she  put  her  nosegays  ;  opposite 
the  chimney  was   a  little   bureau-desk   of   charming 


114  Ursula. 

marquetiy.  The  bed,  of  chintz,  with  chintz  curtains 
lined  with  pink,  was  one  of  those  duchess  beds  so 
common  in  the  eighteenth  century,  which  had  a  tuft 
of  carved  featliers  at  tlie  top  of  eacli  of  the  four 
posts,  which  were  fluted  on  the  sides.  An  old  clock, 
inclosed  in  a  sort  of  monument  made  of  tortoise-shell 
inlaid  with  arabesques  of  Ivor}",  decorated  the  mantel- 
piece, the  marble  shelf  of  which,  with  the  candlesticks 
and  the  mirror  in  a  frame  painted  in  cameo  on 
a  gray  ground,  presented  a  remarkable  harmony  of 
color,  tone  and  stj'le.  A  large  wardrobe,  the  doors 
of  which  were  inlaid  with  landscapes  in  different  woods 
(some  having  a  green  tint  which  are  no  longer  to 
be  found  for  sale)  contained,  no  doubt,  her  linen 
and  her  dresses.  The  air  of  the  room  was  redolent 
of  heaven.  The  precise  arrangement  of  everything 
showed  a  sense  of  order,  a  feeling  for  harmon}-,  which 
would  certainly  have  influenced  an}^  one,  even  a  Minoret- 
Levrault.  It  was  plain  that  the  things  about  her 
were  dear  to  Ursula,  and  that  she  loved  a  room  wliich 
contained,  as  it  were,  her  childhood  and  the  wliole 
of  her  girlish  life. 

Looking  the  room  well  over  that  he  might  seem  to 
have  a  reason  for  his  visit,  the  doctor  saw  at  once  how 
the  windows  looked  into  those  of  Madame  de  Porten- 
duere.  During  the  night  he  had  meditated  as  to  the 
course  he  ought  to  pursue  with  Ursula  about  his  discov- 


Ursula.  115 

ery  of  this  dawning  passion.  To  question  her  now 
would  commit  him  to  some  course.  He  must  either  ap- 
prove or  disapprove  of  her  love  ;  in  either  case  his  posi- 
tion would  be  a  false  one.  He  therefore  resolved  to 
watch  and  examine  into  the  state  of  things  between 
the  two  young  people,  and  learn  whether  it  were 
his  duty  to  check  the  inclination  before  it  was  irre- 
sistible. None  but  an  old  man  could  have  shown  such 
deliberate  wisdom.  Still  panting  from  the  discovery  of 
the  truth  of  these  magnetic  facts,  he  turned  about  and 
looked  at  all  the  various  little  things  around  the  room  ; 
he  wished  to  examine  the  almanac  which  was  hanging 
at  a  corner  of  the  chimne}' -piece. 

"These  ugly  things  are  too  heavy  for  your  little 
hands,"  he  said,  taking  up  the  marble  candlesticks 
which  were  partly  covered  with  leather. 

He  weighed  them  in  his  hand  ;  then  he  looked  at  the 
almanac  and  took  it,  saying,  "  This  is  ugly  too.  Why 
do  3'ou  keep  such  a  common  thing  in  j'our  pretty 
room  ?  " 

"  Oh,  please  let  me  have  it,  godfather." 
"  No,  no,  you  shall  have  another  to-morrow." 
So  saying  he  carried  off  this  possible  proof,  shut  him- 
self up  in  his  study,  looked  for  Saint  Savinlen  and  found, 
as  the  somnambulist  had  told  him,  a  little  red  dot  at  the 
19th  of  October  ;  he  also  saw  another  before  his  own 
saint's  da}'.  Saint  Denis,  and  a  third  before  Saint  John, 


116  Ursula. 

the  abbe's  patron.  This  little  dot,  no  larger  than  a  pin's 
head,  had  been  seen  by  the  sleeping  woman  in  spite  of 
distance  and  other  obstacles  !  The  old  man  thought 
till  evening  of  these  events,  more  momentous  for  him 
than  for  others.  He  was  forced  to  yield  to  evidence. 
A  strong  wall,  as  it  were,  crumbled  within  him  ;  for  his 
life  had  rested  on  two  bases,  —  indifference  in  mat- 
ters of  rehgion  and  a  firm  disbelief  in  magnetism. 
When  it  was  proved  to  him  that  the  senses  —  faculties 
purely  physical,  organs,  the  effects  of  which  could  be 
explained  —  attained  to  some  of  the  attributes  of  the 
infinite,  magnetism  upset,  or  at  least  it  seemed  to  him 
to  upset,  the  powerful  arguments  of  Spinoza.  The 
finite  and  the  infinite,  two  incompatible  elements  ac- 
cording to  that  remarkable  man,  were  here  united,  the 
one  in  the  other.  No  matter  what  power  he  gave  to  the 
divisibility  and  mobilit}'  of  matter  he  could  not  help 
recognizing  that  it  possessed  qualities  that  were  almost 
divine. 

He  was  too  old  now  to  connect  these  phenomena  to  a 
S3'stem,  and  compare  them  with  those  of  sleep,  of  vision, 
of  light.  His  whole  scientific  belief,  based  on  the  asser- 
tions of  the  school  of  LocIvC  and  Condillac,  was  in  ruins. 
Seeing  his  hollow  idols  in  pieces,  his  scepticism  stag- 
gered. Tlius  the  advantage  in  this  struggle  between 
the  Catholic  child  and  the  Voltairean  old  man  was  on 
Ursula's  side.     In  the  dismantled  fortress,  above  these 


Ursula.  117 

ruins,  shone  a  light  ;  from  the  centre  of  these  ashes 
issued  the  path  of  prayer  !  Nevertheless,  the  obstinate 
old  scientist  fought  his  doubts.  Though  struck  to  the 
heart,  he  would  not  decide,  he  struggled  on  against  God. 

But  he  was  no  longer  the  same  man  ;  his  mind  showed 
its  vacillation.  He  became  unnaturally-  dreamy  ;  he 
read  Pascal,  and  Bossuet's  sublime  "  History-  of  Spe- 
cies ;  "  he  read  Bonald,  he  read  Saint-Augustine  ;  he 
determined  also  to  read  the  works  of  Swedenborg,  and 
the  late  Saint-Martin,  which  the  mysterious  stranger 
had  mentioned  to  him.  The  edifice  within  him  was 
crackmg  on  all  sides  ;  it  needed  but  one  more  shake, 
and  then,  his  heart  being  ripe  for  God,  he  was  destined 
to  fall  into  the  celestial  vinej-ard  as  fall  the  fruits. 
Often  of  an  evening,  when  playing  with  the  abbé,  his 
goddaughter  sitting  by,  he  would  put  questions  bearing 
on  his  opinions  which  seemed  singular  to  the  priest, 
who  was  ignorant  of  the  inward  workings  b}-  which 
God  was  remaking  that  fine  conscience. 

"Do  you  believe  in  apparitions?"  asked  the  sceptic 
of  the  pastor,  stopping  short  in  the  game. 

"  Cardan,  a  great  philosopher  of  the  sixteenth  centur\- 
said  he  had  seen  some,"  replied  the  abbé. 

"  I  know  all  those  that  scholars  have  discussed,  for 
I  have  just  reread  Plotinus.  I  am  questioning  \o\x  as  a 
Catholic  might,  and  I  ask  you  if  j'ou  think  that  dead 
men  can  return  to  the  living." 


118  Ursula. 

"  Jesus  reappeared  to  his  disciples  after  his  death," 
said  the  abbé.  "  The  Church  ought  to  have  faith  in  the 
apparitions  of  tlie  Saviour,  As  for  miracles,  they  are 
not  lacking,"  he  continued,  smiling.  "  Shall  I  tell  you 
the  last?     It  took  place  in  the  eighteenth  century." 

'  '  Pooh  !  "  said  the  doctor. 

"  Yes,  the  blessed  Marie-Alphonse  of  Liguori,  being 
very  far  from  Rome,  knew  of  the  death  of  the  Pope  at 
the  very  moment  the  Holy  Father  expired  ;  there  were 
numerous  witnesses  of  this  miracle.  The  sainted  bishop 
being  in  ecstasy,  heard  the  last  words  of  the  sovereign 
pontiff  and  repeated  them  at  the  time  to  those  about 
him.  The  courier  who  ])rouglit  the  announcement  of 
the  death  did  not  arrive  till  thirty  hours  later." 

"Jesuit!"  exclaimed  old  Minoret,  laughing,  "  I  did 
not  ask  you  for  proofs  ;  I  asked  you  if  3'ou  believed  in 
apparitions." 

•'  I  think  an  apparition  depends  a  good  deal  on  who 
sees  it,"  said  the  abbé,  still  fencing  with  his  sceptic. 

"  My  friend,"  said  the  doctor,  serioush',  "  I  am  not 
setting  a  trap  for  you.  What  do  you  really  believe 
about  it?  " 

"  I  believe  that  the  power  of  God  is  infinite,"  replied 
the  abbé. 

"  When  I  am  dead,  if  I  am  reconciled  to  God,  I  will 
ask  him  to  let  me  appear  to  you,"  said  the  doctor, 
smiling. 


Ursula.  119 

"That's  exactl}'  the  agreement  Cardan  made  with 
his  friend,"  answered  the  priest. 

"Ursula,"  said  Minoret,  "if  danger  ever  threatens 
you,  call  me,  and  I  will  come." 

"  You  have  put  into  one  sentence  that  beautiful  eleg}- 
of  '  Néère  '  by  André  Chénier,"  said  the  abbé.  "  Poets 
are  sublime  because  they  clothe  both  facts  and  feelings 
with  ever-living  images." 

"  Why  do  you  speak  of  3-our  death,  dear  godfather?" 
said  Ursula  in  a  grieved  tone.  "  We  Christians  do  not 
die  ;  the  grave  is  the  cradle  of  our  souls." 

"Well,"  said  the  doctor,  smiling,  "we  must  go  out 
of  the  world,  and  when  I  am  no  longer  here  you  will 
be  astonished  at  3'our  fortune." 

"When  you  are  here  no  longer,  m}'  kind  friend,  my 
onl}'  consolation  will  be  to  consecrate  my  life  to  you." 

"To  me,  dead?" 

"  Yes.  All  the  good  works  that  I  can  do  will  be 
done  in  your  name  to  redeem  your  sins.  I  will  praj- 
God  every  dav  for  his  infinite  mercy,  that  he  ma}'  not 
punish  eternally  the  errors  of  a  day.  I  know  he  will 
summon  among  the  righteous  a  soul  so  i^ure,  so  beauti- 
ful, as  yours." 

That  answer,  said  with  angelic  candor,  in  a  tone  of 
absolute  certaint}',  confounded  error  and  converted 
Denis  Minoret  as  God  converted  Saul.  A  ray  of 
inward   light   overawed   him  ;    the   knowledge    of  this 


120  Ursula. 

tenderness,  covering  his  3'ears  to  come,  brought  tears 
to  his  eyes.  This  sudden  effect  of  grace  had  something 
that  seemed  electrical  about  it.  The  abbé  clasped  his 
hands  and  rose,  troubled,  from  his  seat.  The  girl, 
astonished  at  her  triumph,  wept.  The  old  man  stood 
up  as  if  a  voice  had  called  him,  looking  into  space  as 
though  his  eyes  beheld  the  dawn  ;  then  he  bent  his 
knee  upon  his  chair,  clasped  his  hands,  and  lowered  his 
eyes  to  the  ground  as  one  humiliated. 

"  My  God,"  he  said  in  a  trembling  voice,  raising  his 
head,  "  if  any  one  can  obtain  my  pardon  and  lead  me  to 
thee,  surely  it  is  this  spotless  creature.  Have  mercy 
on  the  repentant  old  age  that  this  pure  child  presents 
to  thee  !  " 

He  lifted  his  soul  to  God  ;  mentall}^  praying  for  the 
light  of  divine  knowledge  after  the  gift  of  divine  grace  ; 
then  he  turned  to  the  abbé  and  held  out  his  hand. 

"  My  dear  pastor,"  he  said,  "  I  am  become  as  a  little 
child.     I  belong  to  you  ;  I  give  my  soul  to  your  care." 

Ursula  kissed  his  hands  and  bathed  them  with  her 
tears.  The  old  man  took  her  on  his  knee  and  called 
her  gayl}'  his  godmother.  The  abbé,  deeply  moved, 
recited  the  Veni  Creator  in  a  species  of  religious 
ecstasy.  The  hymn  served  as  the  evening  prayer  of 
the  three  Christians  kneeling  together  for  the  first  time. 

"  What  has  happened?  "  asked  La  Bougival,  amazed 
at  the  sisht. 


Ursula.  121 

"  My  godfather  believes  iu  God  at  last  !  "  replied 
Ursula. 

"  Ah  !  so  much  the  better  ;  he  only  needed  that  to 
make  him  perfect,"  cried  the  old  woman,  crossing  her- 
self with  artless  gravity. 

"  Dear  doctor,"  said  the  good  priest,  "  you  will  soon 
comprehend  the  grandeur  of  religion  and  the  value  of 
its  practices  ;  you  will  find  its  philosophy  in  human 
aspects  far  higher  than  that  of  the  boldest  sceptics." 

The  abbé,  who  showed  a  joy  that  was  almost  infan- 
tine, agreed  to  catechize  the  old  man  and  confer  with 
him  twice  a  week.  Thus  the  conversion  attributed  to 
Ursula  and  to  a  spirit  of  sordid  calculation,  was  the 
spontaneous  act  of  the  doctor  himself.  The  abbé,  who 
for  fourteen  years  had  abstained  from  touching  the 
wounds  of  that  heart,  though  all  the  while  deploring 
them,  was  now  asked  for  help,  as  a  surgeon  is  called 
to  an  injured  man.  Ever  since  this  scene  Ursula's 
evening  prayers  had  been  said  in  common  with  her  god- 
father. Day  after  day  the  old  man  grew  more  con- 
scious of  the  peace  within  him  that  succeeded  all  his 
conflicts.  Having,  as  he  said,  God  as  the  responsible 
editor  of  things  inexplicable,  his  mind  was  at  case. 
His  dear  child  told  him  that  he  might  know  by  that 
how  far  he  had  advanced  already*  in  Gods  kingdom. 
During  the  mass  which  we  have  seen  him  attend,  he 
had  read  the  prayers  and  applied  his  own  intelligence 


122  Ursula, 

to  them  ;  from  the  first,  he  had  risen  to  the  divine 
idea  of  the  communion  of  the  faithful.  The  old 
neoph3-te  understood  the  eternal  s3'mbol  attached  to 
that  sacred  nourishment,  which  faith  renders  needful 
to  the  soul  after  conveying  to  it  her  own  profound  and 
radiant  essence.  When  on  leaving  the  church  he  had 
seemed  in  a  hurry  to  get  home,  it  was  mereh'  that  he 
might  once  more  thank  his  dear  child  for  having  led 
him  to  "enter  religion,"  —  the  beautiful  expression  of 
former  days.  He  was  holding  her  on  his  knee  in  the 
salon  and  kissing  her  forehead  sacredly-  at  the  very 
moment  when  his  relatives  were  degrading  that  saintly 
influence  with  their  shameless  fears,  and  casting  their 
vulgar  insults  upon  Ursula,  His  haste  to  return  home, 
his  assumed  disdain  for  their  company,  his  sharp  replies 
as  he  left  the  church  were  naturally  attributed  by  all 
the  heirs  to  the  hatred  Ursula  had  excited  against  them 
in  the  old  man's  mind. 


Ursula.  123 


VIII. 

THE   CONFERENCE. 

While  Ursula  was  pla3'ing  variations  on  Weber's 
"  Last  Thought  "  to  her  godfather,  a  plot  was  hatching 
in  the  Minoret-Levraults'  dining-room  which  was  des- 
tined to  have  a  lasting  effect  on  the  events  of  this 
drama.  The  breakfast,  noisy  as  all  provincial  break- 
fasts are,  and  enlivened  by  excellent  wines  brought  to 
Nemours  by  the  canal  either  from  Burgund}"  or  Tou- 
raine,  lasted  more  than  two  hours.  Zélie  had  sent  for 
oysters,  salt-water  fish,  and  other  gastronomical  deli- 
cacies to  do  honor  to  Desire's  return.  The  dining- 
room,  in  the  centre  of  which  a  round  table  offered  a 
most  appetizing  sight,  was  like  the  hall  of  an  inn. 
Content  with  the  size  of  her  kitchens  and  offices,  Zélie 
had  built  a  pavilion  for  the  family  between  the  vast 
courtyard  and  a  garden  planted  with  vegetables  and 
full  of  fruit-trees.  Ever3'thing  about  the  premises  was 
solid  and  plain.  The  example  of  Levrault-Levrault 
had  been  a  warning  to  the  town.  Zélie  forbade  her 
builder  to  lead  her  into  such  follies.  The  dining-room 
was,  therefore,  hung  with  varnished  paper  and  fur- 
nished with  walnut  chairs  and  sideboards,  a  porcelain 


124  Ursula. 

stove,  a  tall  clock,  and  a  barometer.  Though  the  plates 
and  dishes  were  of  common  white  china,  the  table 
shone  with  handsome  linen  and  abundant  silverware. 
After  Zélie  had  served  the  coffee,  going  and  coming 
herself  like  shot  in  a  decanter,  —  for  she  kept  but  one 
servant,  —  and  when  Desire,  the  budding  lawyer,  had 
been  told  of  the  event  of  the  morning  and  its  probable 
consequences,  the  door  was  closed,  and  the  notary 
Dionis  was  called  upon  to  speak.  By  the  silence  in 
the  room  and  the  looks  that  were  cast  on  that  authori- 
tative face,  it  was  easy  to  see  the  power  that  such  men 
exercise  over  families. 

"  My  dear  children,"  said  he,  "  3'our  uncle  having 
been  born  in  1746,  is  eighty-three  3'ears  old  at  the  pres- 
ent time  ;  now,  old  men  are  given  to  foil}',  and  that 
little  —  " 

"  Viper  I  "  cried  Madame  Massin. 

"  Hussy  !  "  said  Zélie. 

"  Let  us  call  her  by  her  own  name,"  said  Dionis. 

"  Well,  she  's  a  thief,"  said  Madame  Crémière. 

"  A  prett}'  thief,"  remarked  Desire. 

"  That  little  Ursula,"  went  on  Dionis,  "  has  man- 
aged to  get  hold  of  his  heart.  I  have  been  thinking  of 
3'Our  interests,  and  I  did  'not  wait  until  now  before 
making  certain  inquiries  ;  now  this  is  what  I  have 
discovered  about  that  3'oung  —  ' 

"  Marauder,"  said  the  collector. 


Ursula.  125 

"  Inveigler,"  said  the  clerk  of  the  court. 

"Hold  your  tongue,  friends,"  said  the  notary,  "or 
I  '11  take  my  hat  and  be  off." 

"  Come,  come,  papa,"  cried  Minoret,  pouring  out  a 
little  glass  of  rum  and  offering  it  to  the  notary  ;  "  here, 
drink  this,  it  comes  from  Home  itself;  and  now  go 
on." 

"  Ursula  is,  it  is  true,  the  legitimate  daughter  of 
Joseph  Mirouët  ;  but  her  father  was  the  natural  son  of 
Valentin  Mirouët,  your  uncle's  father-in-law.  Being 
therefore  an  illegitimate  niece,  anj'  will  the  doctor 
might  make  in  her  favor  could  probabl}'  be  contested  ; 
and  if  he  leaves  her  his  fortune  in  that  wa}'  you  could 
bring  a  suit  against  Ursula.  This,  however,  might 
turn  out  ill  for  you,  in  case  the  court  took  the  view 
that  there  was  no  relationship  between  Ursula  and  the 
doctor.  Still,  the  suit  would  frighten  an  unprotected 
girl,  and  bring  about  a  compromise  —  " 

"  The  law  is  so  rigid  as  to  the  rights  of  natural 
children,"  said  the  newly  fledged  licentiate,  eager  to 
parade  his  knowledge,  "  that  by  a  judgment  of  the 
court  of  appeals  dated  Jul^'  7,  1817,  a  natural  child 
can  claim  nothing  from  his  natural  grandfather,  not 
even  a  maintenance.  So  3'ou  see  the  illegitimate 
parentage  is  made  retrospective.  The  law  pursues  the 
natural  child  even  to  its  legitimate  descent,  on  the 
ground  that  benefactions  done  to  grandchildren  reacn 


126  '  Ursula, 

the  natural  son  through  that  medium.  This  is  shown 
by  articles  757,  908,  and  911  of  the  civil  Code.  The 
ro3-al  court  of  Paris,  by  a  decision  of  the  26th  of 
January  of  last  3'ear,  cut  off  a  legacy  made  to  the 
legitimate  child  of  a  natural  son  by  the  grandfather, 
who,  as  grandfather,  was  as  distant  to  a  natural  grand- 
son as  the  doctor,  being  an  uncle,  is  to  Ursula." 

"All  that,"  said  Goupil,  "seems  to  me  to  relate 
only  to  the  bequests  made  by  grandfathers  to  natural 
descendants.  Ursula  is  not  a  blood  relation  of  Doctor 
Minoret.  I  remember  a  decision  of  the  royal  court  at 
Colmar,  rendered  in  1825,  just  before  I  took  my  degree, 
which  declared  that  after  tlie  decease  of  a  natural  child 
his  descendants  could  no  longer  be  prohibited  from 
inheriting.     Now,  Ursula's  father  is  dead." 

Goupil's  argument  produced  what  journalists  who 
report  the  sittings  of  legislative  assemblies  are  wont  to 
call  "  profound  sensation." 

"What  does  that  signif}-?"  cried  Dionis.  "The 
actual  case  of  the  bequest  of  an  uncle  to  an  illegitimate 
child  may  not  yet  have  been  presented  for  trial  ;  but 
when  it  is,  the  sternness  of  Fi'ench  law  against  such 
children  will  be  all  the  more  firmly  applied  because  we 
live  in  times  when  religion  is  honored.  I  '11  answer  for 
it  that  out  of  such  a  suit  as  I  propose  j-ou  could  get  a 
compromise,  —  especially  if  the}'  see  you  are  deter- 
mined to  cany  Ursula  to  a  court  of  appeals." 


Ursula.  127 

Here  the  joy  of  the  heii's  ah-eady  fingering  their  gold 
was  made  manifest  in  smiles,  shrugs,  and  gestures 
round  the  table,  and  prevented  all  notice  of  Goupil's 
dissent.  This  elation,  however,  was  succeeded  by  deep 
silence  and  uneasiness  when  the  notary  uttered  his,  next 
word,  a  terrible  "  But  !  " 

As  if  he  had  pulled  the  string  of  a  puppet-show, 
starting  the  little  people  in  jerks  by  means  of  machinery, 
Dionis  beheld  all  ej'es  turned  on  him  and  all  faces 
rigid  in  one  and  the  same  pose. 

"  But  no  law  prevents  your  uncle  from  adopting  or 
marrying  Ursula,"  he  continued.  "  As  for  adoption, 
that  could  be  contested,  and  you  would,  I  think,  have 
equity  on  your  side.  The  ro3al  courts  never  trifle 
with  questions  of  adoption  ;  you  would  get  a  hearing 
there.  It  is  true  the  doctor  is  an  officer  of  the  Legion 
of  honor,  and  was  formerl}'  surgeon  to  the  ex-emperor  ; 
but,  nevertheless,  he  would  get  the  worst  of  it.  More- 
over, you  would  have  due  warning  in  case  of  adoption 
—  but  how  about  marriage  ?  Old  Minoret  is  shrewd 
enough  to  go  to  Paris  and  marrj'  her  after  a  3-ear's 
domicile  and  give  her  a  million  b}'  the  marriage  con- 
tract. The  only  thing,  therefore,  that  really  puts  3'our 
propert}'  in  danger  is  your  uncle's  marriage  with  the 
girl." 

Here  the  notar}'  paused. 

"  There 's    another    danger,"    said   Goupil,    with    a 


128  Ursula. 

knowing  air,  —  "that  of  a  will  made  in  favor  of  a 
tliird  person,  old  Bongrand  for  instance,  who  will  hold 
the  property  in  trust  for  Mademoiselle  Ursula  —  " 

"  If  3-ou  tease  3-our  uncle,"  continued  Dionls,  cutting 
short  his  head-clerk,  "  if  3'ou  are  not  all  of  you  very 
polite  to  Ursula,  3'ou  will  drive  him  either  into  a  mar- 
riage or  into  making  that  private  trust  which  Goupil 
speaks  of,  —  though  I  don't  think  him  capable  of  that  ; 
it  is  a  dangerous  thing.  As  for  marriage,  that  is  eas3'  to 
prevent.  Desire  there  has  only  got  to  hold  out  a  finger 
to  the  girl  ;  she  's  sure  to  prefer  a  handsome  young 
man,  cock  of  the  walk  in  Nemours,  to  an  old  one." 

"Mother,"  said  Desire  in  Zélie's  ear,  as  much  allured 
b3'  the  millions  as  by  Ursula's  beaut3',  "  If  I  married 
her  we  should  get  the  whole  propert3'." 

"Are  3'ou  craz3'?  —  you,  who'll  some  da3'  have 
fift3'  thousand  francs  a  year  and  be  made  a  deputy  ! 
As  long  as  I  live  you  never  shall  cut  3'our  throat  b3-  a 
foolish  marriage.  Seven  hundred  thousand  francs, 
indeed  !  Why,  the  mayor's  only  daughter  will  have 
fifty  thousand  a  3^ear,  and  the3-  have  aliead3'  proposed 
her  to  me  —  " 

This  reply,  the  first  rough  speech  his  mother  had  ever 
made  to  him,  extinguished  in  Desire's  breast  all  desire 
for  a  marriage  with  the  beautiful  Ursula  ;  for  his  father 
and  he  never  got  the  better  of  an3-  decision  once  wi'itten 
in  the  terrible  blue  eyes  of  Zelie  Minoret. 


Ursula.  129 

"  Yes,  but  see  here,  Monsieur  Dionis,"  cried  Cré- 
mière, whose  wife  had  been  nudging  him,  "  if  the  good- 
man  took  the  thing  seriously  and  married  his  god- 
daughter to  Desire,  giving  lier  the  reversion  of  all  the 
property,  good-by  to  our  share  of  it  ;  if  he  lives  five 
years  longer  uncle  may  be  worth  a  million." 

"Never!"  cried  Zelie,  "never  in  my  life  shall 
Desire  marry  the  daughter  of  a  bastard,  a  girl  picked 
up  in  the  streets  out  of  charity.  My  son  will  represent 
the  Minore ts  after  the  death  of  his  uncle,  and  the 
Minorets  have  five  hundred  ^ears  of  good  bourgeoisie 
behind  them.  That 's  equal  to  the  nobility.  Don't  be 
uneas}',  an}'  of  you  ;  Desire  will  marr^'  when  we  find  a 
chance  to  put  him  in  the  Chamber  of  deputies." 

This  lofty  declaration  was  backed  b^-  Goupil,  who 
said  :  — 

"  Desire,  with  an  allowance  of  twentj'-four  thousand 
francs  a  3'ear,  will  be  president  of  a  royal  court  or 
solicitor-general  ;  either  office  leads  to  the  peerage.  A 
foolish  marriage  would  ruin  him." 

The  heirs  were  now  all  talking  at  once  ;  but  they 
suddenly  held  their  tongues  when  Minoret  rapped  on 
the  table  with  his  fist  to  keep  silence  for  the  notary. 

"Your  uncle  is  a  worthy  man,"  continued  Dionis. 
"  He  believes  he  's  immortal  ;  and,  like  most  clever 
men,  he  '11  let  death  overtake  him  before  he  has  made 
a  will.     My  advice  therefore  is  to  induce  him  to  invest 

9 


130  Ursula. 

his  capital  in  a  way  that  will  make  it  difficult  for  him 
to  disinherit  you,  and  I  know  of  an  opportunity,  made 
to  hand.  That  little  Portenduere  is  in  Saint-Pélagie, 
locked-up  for  one  hundred  and  some  odd  thousand 
francs'  worth  of  debt.  His  old  mother  knows  he  is  in 
prison  ;  she  is  crying  like  a  Magdalen.  The  abbé  is  to 
dine  with  her  :  no  doubt  she  wants  to  talk  to  him  about 
her  troubles.  Well,  1  '11  go  and  see  your  uncle  to-night 
and  persuade  him  to  sell  his  five  per  cent  consols,  which 
are  now  at  118,  and  lend  Madame  de  Portenduere,  on 
the  security  of  her  farm  at  Bordières  and  her  house 
here,  enough  to  pay  the  debts  of  the  prodigal  son. 
I  have  a  right  as  notary  to  speak  to  him  in  behalf 
of  young  Portenduere  ;  and  it  is  quite  natural  that  I 
should  wish  to  make  him  change  his  investments  ;  I 
get  deeds  and  commissions  out  of  the  business.  If 
I  become  his  adviser  I  '11  propose  to  him  other  land 
investments  for  his  surplus  capital  ;  I  have  some  excel- 
lent ones  now  in  m}'  office.  If  his  fortune  were  once 
invested  in  landed  estate  or  in  mortgage  notes  in  this 
neighborhood,  it  could  not  take  wings  to  itself  very 
easily.  It  is  eas}'  to  make  difficulties  between  the  wish 
to  realize  and  the  realization." 

The  heirs,  struck  with  the  truth  of  this  argument 
(much  clevei-er  than  that  of  Monsieur  Josse),  mur- 
mured approval. 

"  You  must  be  cai-eful,"  said  the  notary-  in  conclu- 


Ursula.  131 

sion,  "  to  keep  3'our  uncle  in  Nemours,  where  his  habits 
are  known,  and  where  3'ou  can  watch  him.  Find  him 
a  lover  for  the  girl  and  you  '11  prevent  his  marrying  her 
himself." 

"Suppose  she  married  the  lover?"  said  Goupil, 
seized  by  an  ambitious  idea. 

"That  wouldn't  be  a  bad  thing;  then  you  could 
figure  up  the  loss  ;  the  old  man  would  have  to  say  how 
much  he  gives  her,"  replied  the  notary.  "  But  if  ^-ou 
set  Desire  at  her  he  could  keep  the  girl  dangling  on  till 
the  old  man  died.     Marriages  are  made  and  unmade." 

"The  shortest  way,"  said  Goupil,  "  if  the  doctor  is 
likely  to  live  much  longer,  is  to  marr}-  her  to  some 
worthy  young  man  who  will  get  her  out  of  your  way  by 
settling  at  Sens,  or  Montargis,  or  Orléans  with  a  hun- 
dred thousand  francs  in  hand." 

Dionis,  Massin,  Zelie,  and  Goupil,  the  only  intelli- 
gent heads  in  the  compan}',  exchanged  four  thoughtful 
smiles. 

"  He'd  be  a  worm  at  the  core,"  whispered  Zelie  to 
Massin. 

"  How  did  he  get  here?  "  returned  the  clerk. 

"  That  will  just  suit  3'ou  !  "  cried  Desire  to  Goupil. 
"  But  do  you  think  you  can  behave  decentl}'  enough  to 
satisfy  the  old  man  and  the  girl  ?  " 

"  In  these  da3-s,"  whispered  Zelie  again  in  Massin's 
ear,  "  notaries  look  out  for  no  interests  but  their  own. 


132  Ursula. 

Suppose  Dionis  went  over  to  Ursula  just  to  get  the  old 
man's  business  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure  of  him,"  said  the  clerk  of  the  court,  giv- 
ing her  a  sh'  look  out  of  his  spiteful  little  ej'es.  He  was 
just  going  to  add,  "  because  I  hold  somethmg  over 
him,"  but  he  withheld  the  words. 

"  I  am  quite  of  Dionis's  opinion,"  he  said  aloud, 

"  So  am  I,"  cried  Zélie,  who  now  suspected  the  no- 
tary of  collusion  with  the  clerk. 

"  My  wife  has  voted  !  "  said  the  post  master,  sipping 
his  brand^',  though  his  face  was  already  purple  from 
digesting  his  meal  and  absorbing  a  notable  quantity  of 
liquids. 

"  And  verj'  properlj'."  remarked  the  collector. 

"  I  shall  go  and  see  the  doctor  after  dinner,"'  said 
Dionis. 

"  If  Monsieur  Dionis's  advice  is  good,"  said  Madame 
Crémière  to  Madame  Massin,  "  we  had  better  go  and 
call  on  our  uncle,  as  we  used  to  do,  every  Sunda}-  even- 
ing, and  behave  exactly  as  Monsieur  Dionis  has  told 
us." 

"Yes,  and  be  received  as  he  received  us!"  cried 
Zélie.  "  Minoret  and  I  have  more  than  fort}-  thousand 
francs  a  3'ear,  and  yet  he  refused  our  invitations  !  We 
are  quite  his  equals.  If  I  don't  know  how  to  write  pre- 
scriptions I  know  how  to  paddle  my  boat  as  well  as 
he  —  I  can  tell  him  that  !  " 


Ursula.  133 

"  As  I  am  far  from  having  forty  thousand  francs  a 
j-ear,"  said  Madame  Massin,  rather  piqued,  "  I  don't 
want  to  lose  ten  thousand." 

"  We  are  his  nieces  ;  we  ought  to  take  care  of  him, 
and  then  besides  we  shall  see  how  things  are  going," 
said  Madame  Crémière  ;  "  you  'II  thank  us  some  day, 
cousin." 

"Treat  Ursula  kindl}',"  said  the  notary,  lifting  his 
right  forefinger  to  the  level  of  his  lips  ;  "  remember  old 
Jord}'  left  her  his  savings." 

"  You  have  managed  those  fools  as  well  as  Desroches, 
the  best  lawyer  in  Paris,  could  have  done,"  said  Goupil 
to  his  patron  as  they  left  the  post-house. 

"  And  now  the}'  are  quarrelling  over  my  fee,"  re- 
plied the  notaiy,  smiling  bitterly. 

The  heirs,  after  parting  with  Dionis  and  his  clerk, 
met  again  in  the  square,  with  faces  rather  flushed  from 
their  breakfast,  just  as  vespers  were  over.  As  the  no- 
tary predicted,  the  Abbé  Chaperon  had  Madame  de 
Portendiière  on  his  arm. 

"  She  dragged  him  to  vespers,  see  !  "  cried  Madame 
Massin  to  Madame  Crémière,  pointing  to  Ursula  and 
the  doctor,  who  were  leaving  the  church. 

"  Let  us  go  and  speak  to  him,"  said  Madame  Cré- 
mière, approaching  the  old  man. 

The  change  in  the  faces  of  his  relatives  (produced  by 
the  conference)  did  not   escape  Doctor   Minoret.     He 


134  Ursula. 

tried  to  guess  the  reason  of  this  sudden  amiabihty,  and 
out  of  sheer  curiosity  encouraged  Ursula  to  stop  and 
speak  to  the  two  women,  who  were  eager  to  greet  her 
with  exaggerated  affection  and  forced  smiles. 

"  Uncle,  will  you  permit  us  to  come  and  see  y  on 
to-night?"  said  Madame  Crémière.  "  We  feared  some- 
times we  were  in  your  way  —  but  it  is  such  a  long  time 
since  our  children  have  paid  you  their  respects  ;  our 
girls  are  old  enough  now  to  make  dear  Ursula's  ac- 
quaintance." 

"Ursula  is  a  little  bear,  like  her  name,"  replied  the 
doctor. 

"  Let  us  tame  her,"  said  Madame  Massin.  "  And 
besides,  uncle/'  added  the  good  housewife,  trying  to 
hide  her  real  motive  under  a  mask  of  economy,  "  they 
tell  us  the  dear  girl  has  such  talent  for  the  forte  that  we 
are  very  anxious  to  hear  her.  Madame  Crémière  and 
I  are  inclined  to  take  her  music-master  for  our  children. 
If  there  w^ere  six  or  eight  scholars  in  a  class  it  would 
bring  the  price  of  his  lessons  within  our  means." 

"Certainly,"  said  tlie  old  man,  "and  it  will  be  all 
the  better  for  me  because  I  want  to  give  Ursula  a 
singing-master." 

"  Well,  to-night  then,  uncle.  We  will  bring  your 
great-nephew  Désiré  to  see  you  ;  he  is  now  a  lawyer." 

"  Yes,  to-night,"  echoed  Minoret,  meaning  to  fathom 
the  motives  of  these  pett}'  souls. 


Ursula.  135 

The  two  nieces  pressed  Ursula's  band,  saying,  with 
affected  eagerness,  "  Au  revoir." 

"  Oil,  godfather,  ^'ou  have  read  my  heart  !  "  ci-ied 
Ursula,  giving  him  a  grateful  look. 

"  You  are  going  to  have  a  voice,"  he  said  ;  "  and  I 
shall  give  you  masters  of  drawing  and  Italian  also.  A 
woman,"  added  the  doctor,  looking  at  Ursula  as  he 
unfastened  the  gate  of  his  house,  "  ought  to  be  edu- 
cated to  the  height  of  every  position  in  which  her 
marriage  ma}'  place  her." 

Ursula  grew  as  red  as  a  cherry  ;  her  godfather's 
thoughts  evidentl}'  turned  in  the  same  direction  as  her 
own.  Feeling  that  she  was  too  near  confessing  to  the 
doctor  the  involuntary  attraction  which  led  her  to  think 
about  Savinien  and  to  centre  all  her  ideas  of  affection 
upon  him,  she  turned  aside  and  sat  down  in  front  of  a 
great  cluster  of  climbing  plants,  on  the  dark  back- 
ground of  which  she  looked  at  a  distance  like  a  blue 
and  white  flower. 

"Now  you  see,  godfather,  that  3'our  nieces  were 
ver}'  kind  to  me  ;  yes,  the}'  were  ver}'  kind,"  she  re- 
peated as  he  approached  her,  to  change  the  thoughts 
that  made  him  pensive. 

"■  Poor  little  girl  !  "  cried  the  old  man. 

He  laid  Ursula's  hand  upon  his  arm,  tapping  it 
gently,  and  took  her  to  the  terrace  beside  the  river, 
where  no  one  could  hear  them 


136  Ursula. 

"  Why  do  you  say,  '  Poor  little  girl  '?" 

"  Don't  you  see  how  they  fear  you?  " 

"  Fear  me,  —  why  ?  " 

"  My  next  of  kin  are  very  uneas}'  about  my  con- 
version. The}'  no  doubt  attribute  it  to  your  influence 
over  me  ;  they  fanc}'  I  shall  deprive  them  of  their 
inheritance  to  enrich  you." 

"But  you  won't  do  that?"  said  Ursula  naivel}', 
looking  up  at  him. 

"  Oh,  divine  consolation  of  my  old  age  !  "  said  the 
doctor,  taking  his  godchild  in  his  arms  and  kissing  her 
on  both  cheeks.  "  It  was  for  her  and  not  for  m3-self, 
oh  God  !  that  I  besought  thee  just  now  to  let  me  live 
until  the  da}'  I  give  her  to  some  good  being  who  is 
worthy  of  her  !  —  You  will  see  comedies,  ray  little 
angel,  comedies  which  the  Minorets  and  Crémières  and 
Massins  will  come  and  play  here.  You  want  to  brighten 
and  prolong  my  life  ;  they  are  longing  for  m}-  death." 

"God  forbids  us  to  hate  any  one,  but  if  that  is  — 
Ah,  I  despise  them?*'  exclaimed  Ursula. 

"  Dinner  is  read}'  !  "  called  La  Bougival  from  the 
portico,  which,  on  the  garden  side,  was  at  the  end  of 
the  corridor. 


Ursula.  137 


IX. 

A  FIRST   CONFIDENCE. 

Ursula  and  her  godfather  were  sitting  at  dessert  in 
the  prett}-  dining-room  decorated  with  Chinese  designs 
in  black  and  gold  lacquer  (the  foil}-  of  Levrault-Levrault) 
when  the  justice  of  peace  arrived.  The  doctor  offered  ' 
him  (and  this  was  a  great  mark  of  intimac)')  a  cup  of 
his  coffee,  a  mixture  of  Mocha  with  Bourbon  and  Mar- 
tinique, roasted,  ground,  and  made  by  himself  in  a 
silver  apparatus  called  a  Chaptal. 

"  Well,"  said  Bongrand,  pushing  up  his  glasses  and 
looking  slyly  at  the  old  man,  "the  town  is  in  commo- 
tion ;  your  appearance  in  church  has  put  3'our  relatives 
beside  themselves.  You  have  left  your  fortune  to  the 
priests,  to  the  poor.  You  have  roused  the  families, 
and  the}'  are  bestirring  themselves.  Ha  !  ha  !  I  saw 
their  first  irruption  into  the  square  ;  the}'  were  as  busy 
as  ants  who  have  lost  their  eggs." 

"What  did  I  tell  you,  Ursula?"  cried  the  doctor. 
"At  the  risk  of  grieving  you,  my  child,  I  must  teach 
you  to  know  the  world  and  put  you  on  your  guard 
against  undeserved  enmity." 


138  Ursula. 

"  I  should  like  to  sa}-  a  word  to  3'ou  on  this  subject," 
said  Bongrand,  seizing  the  occasion  to  speak  to  his  old 
friend  of  Ursula's  future. 

The  doctor  put  a  black  velvet  cap  on  his  white  head, 
the  justice  of  peace  wore  bis  hat  to  protect  him  from 
the  night  air,  and  the}'  walked  up  and  down  the  terrace 
discussing  the  means  of  securing  to  Ursula  what  her 
godfather  intended  to  bequeath  to  her.  Bongrand 
knew  Dionis's  opinion  as  to  the  invalidit}'  of  a  will 
made  b}'  the  doctor  in  favor  of  Ursula  ;  for  Nemours 
was  so  preoccupied  with  the  Minoret  affairs  that  the 
matter  had  been  much  discussed  among  the  law3'ers  of 
the  little  town.  Bongrand  considered  that  Ursula 
Mirouèt  was  not  a  relative  of  Doctor  Minoret,  but  he 
felt  that  the  whole  spirit  of  legislation  was  against  the 
foisting  into  families  of  illegitimate  off-shoots.  The 
makers  of  the  Code  had  foreseen  only  the  weakness  of 
fathers  and  mothers  for  their  natural  children,  without 
considering  that  uncles  and  aunts  might  have  a  like 
tenderness  and  a  desire  to  provide  for  such  children. 
Evidenth'  there  was  a  gap  in   the  law. 

"  In  all  other  countries,"  he  said,  ending  an  explana- 
tion of  the  legal  points  which  Dionis,  Goupil,  and  Desire 
had  just  explained  to  the  heirs,  "  Ursula  would  have 
nothing  to  fear  ;  she  is  a  legitimate  child,  and  the 
disabilit}'  of  her  father  ought  onl}'  to  affect  tlie  inheri- 
tance from  Valentint  Miroiict,  her  grandfather.     But  in 


Ursula.  139 

France  the  magistracy  is  unfortunatel}''  overwise  and 
v&ry  consequential  ;  it  inquires  into  the  spirit  of  the 
law.  Some  lawyers  talk  moralit}',  and  might  try  to 
show  that  this  hiatus  in  the  Code  came  from  the  simple- 
mindedness  of  the  legislators,  who  did  not  foresee  the 
case,  though,  none  the  less,  the}'  established  a  princi- 
ple. To  bring  a  suit  would  be  long  and  expensive. 
Zelie  would  carr}'  it  to  the  court  of  appeals,  and  I  might 
not  be  alive  when  the  case  was  tried." 

"The  best  of  cases  is  often  worthless,"  cried  the 
doctor.  "  Here  's  the  question  the  lawyers  will  put, 
'  To  what  degrees  of  relationship  ought  the  disability 
of  natural  children  in  matters  of  inheritance  to  extend?  ' 
and  the  credit  of  a  good  lawj'er  will  lie  in  gaining  a  bad 
cause." 

"Faith!"  said  Bongrand,  "I  dare  not  take  upon 
myself  to  affirm  that  the  judges  would  n't  interpret  the 
meaning  of  the  law  as  increasing  the  protection  given 
to  marriage,  the  eternal  base  of  society." 

Without  explaining  his  intentions,  the  doctor  rejected 
the  idea  of  a  trust.  When  Bongrand  suggested  to  him 
a  marriage  with  Ursula  as  the  surest  means  of  securing 
his  property-  to  her,  he  exclaimed,  "  Poor  little  girl  !  I 
might  live  fifteen  years  ;  what  a  fate  for  her  !  " 

"  Well,  wliat  will  you  do,  then?  "  asked  Bongrand. 

"  We  '11  think  about  it  —  T  '11  see,"  said  the  old  man, 
evidently  at  a  loss  for  a  reply. 


140  Ursula. 

Just  then  Ursula  came  to  say  that  Monsieur  Dionis 
wished  to  speak  to  the  doctor. 

"Alread}'!"  cried  Minoret,  looking  at  Bongrand. 
"  Yes,"  he  said  to  Ursula,  "  send  him  here." 

"  I  '11  bet  m}'  spectacles  to  a  bunch  of  matches  that 
he  is  the  advance-guard  of  yoxxv  heirs,"  said  Bongrand. 
"  They  breakfasted  together  at  the  post  house,  and 
something  is  being  engineered." 

The  notary,  conducted  b}^  Ursula,  came  to  the  lower 
end  of  the  garden.  After  the  usual  greetings  and  a 
few  insignificant  remarks,  Dionis  asked  for  a  private 
interview  ;  Ursula  and  Bongrand  retired  to  the  salon. 

The  distrust  which  superior  men  excite  in  men  of 
business  is  ver}'  remarkable.  The  latter  den}'  them  the 
lesser  powers  while  recognizing  their  possession  of  the 
higher.  It  is,  perhaps,  a  tribute  to  them.  Seeing 
them  always  on  the  higher  plane  of  human  things, 
men  of  business  believe  them  incapable  of  descending 
to  the  infinitely  petty  details  which  (like  the  dividends 
of  finance  and  the  microscopic  facts  of  science)  go  to 
equalize  capital  and  to  form  the  worlds.  They  are 
mistaken  !  The  man  of  honor  and  of  genius  sees  all. 
Bongrand,  piqued  by  the  doctor's  silence,  but  impelled 
by  a  sense  of  Ursula's  interests  which  he  thought  en- 
dangered, resolved  to  defend  her  against  the  heirs.  He 
was  wretched  at  not  knowing  what  was  taking  place 
between  the  old  man  and  Dionis. 


Ursula.  141 

"  No  matter  how  pure  and  innocent  Ursula  may  be," 
he  thought  as  he  looked  at  her,  "there  is  a  point  on 
which  young  girls  do  make  their  own  law  and  their  own 
morality.  I'll  test  her.  The  Minore t-Levraults,"  he 
began,  settling  his  spectacles,  "  might  possibly  ask  you 
in  marriage  for  their  son." 

The  poor  child  turned  pale.  She  was  too  well 
trained,  and  had  too  much  delicacy  to  listen  to  what 
Dionis  was  saying  to  her  uncle  ;  but  after  a  moment's 
inward  deliberation,  she  thought  she  might  show  her- 
self, and  then,  if  she  was  in  the  way,  her  godfatlier 
would  let  her  know  it.  The  Chinese  pagoda  which 
the  doctor  made  his  study  had  outside  blinds  to  the 
glass  -doors  ;  Ursula  invented  the  excuse  of  shutting 
them.  She  begged  Monsieur  Bongrand's  pardon  for 
leaving  him  alone  in  the  salon,  but  he  smiled  at  her  and 
said,  "Go!  go!" 

Ursula  went  down  the  steps  of  the  portico  which  led 
to  the  pagoda  at  the  foot  'of  the  garden.  She  stood  for 
some  minutes  slowly  arranging  the  blinds  and  watching 
the  sunset.  The  doctor  and  notary  were  at  the  end  of 
the  terrace,  but  as  they  turned  she  heard  the  doctor 
make  an  answer  which  reached  the  pagoda  where  she 
was. 

"  M}'  heirs  would  be  delighted  to  see  me  invest  my 
propert}'  in  real  estate  or  mortgages  ;  they  imagine  it 
"would  be  safer  there.     I  know  exactly  what  they  are 


142  Urmia. 

saying;  perhaps  you  come  from  them.  Let  me  tell 
30U,  my  good  sir,  that  my  disposition  of  my  property 
is  irrevocably  made.  My  heirs  will  have  the  capital  I 
brought  here  with  me  ;  I  wish  them  to  know  that,  and 
to  let  me  alone.  If  any  one  of  them  attempts  to  inter- 
fere with  what  I  think  proper  to  do  for  that  young  girl 
(pointing  to  Ursula)  I  shall  come  back  from  the  other 
world  and  torment  him.  80,  Monsieur  Savinien  de 
Portenduère  will  staj'  in  prison  if  they  count  on  me  to 
get  him  out.  I  shall  not  sell  my  property  in  the 
Funds." 

Hearing  this  last  fragment  of  the  sentence   Ursula 
experienced  the  first  and  only  pain  which  so  far  had 
ever  touched  her.     She  laid  her  head  against  the  blind  • 
to  steady  herself. 

"  Good  God,  what  is  the  matter  with  her?  "  thought 
the  old  doctor.  "She  has  no  color  ;  such  an  emotion 
after  dinner  might  kill  her." 

He  went  to  her  with  open  arms  and  she  fell  into 
them  almost  fainting. 

"  Adieu,  Monsieur,"  he  said  to  the  notary-,  "  please 
leave  us." 

He  carried  his  child  to  an  immense  Louis  XV.  sofa 
which  was  in  his  study,  looked  for  a  phial  of  hartshorn 
among  his  remedies  and  made  her  inhale  it. 

"  Take  my  place,"  said  the  doctor  to  Bongrand,  who 
was  terrified  ;   "  I  must  be  alone  with  her." 


Ursula.  143 

The  justice  of  peace  accompanied  the  notary  to  the 
gate,  asking  him,  but  without  showing  an}'  eagerness, 
what  was  the  matter  with  Ursula. 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  Dionis.  "  She  was  stand- 
ing by  the  pagoda,  listening  to  us,  and  just  as  her  uncle 
(so-called)  refused  to  lend  some  money  at  my  request 
to  3'oung  de  Portendu^re  who  is  in  prison  for  debt,  — 
for  he  has  not  had,  like  Monsieur  du  Rouvre,  a  Mon- 
sieur Bongrand  to  defend  him,  —  she  turned  pale  and 
staggered.  Can  she  love  him?  Is  there  anything 
between  them  ?  " 

"  At  fifteen  ^-ears  of  age?  pooh  !  "  replied  Bongrand. 

"  She  was  born  in  February,  1813  ;  she  '11  be  sixteen 
in  four  months." 

"  I  don't  believe  she  ever  saw  him,"  said  the  judge. 
"  No,  it  is  only  a  nervous  attack." 

"Attack  of  the  heart,  more  likely,"  said  the  notaiy. 

Dionis  was  delighted  with  this  discovery,  which  would 
prevent  the  marriage  in  extremis  which  the}'  dreaded, 
—  the  onl}' sure  means  by  which  the  doctor  could  de- 
fraud his  relatives.  Bongrand,  on  the  other  hand,  saw 
a  private  castle  of  his  own  demolished  ;  he  had  long 
thought  of  marrying  his  son  to  Ursula. 

"If  the  poor  girl  loves  that  youth  it  will  be  a  mis- 
fortune for  her,"  replied  Bongrand  after  a  pause. 
"Madame  de  Portenduère  is  a  Breton  and  infatuated 
with  her  noble  blood." 


144  Ursula. 

"Luckily  —  I  mean  for  the  honor  of  the  Porten- 
duères,"  replied  the  notary,  on  the  point  of  betraying 
himself. 

Let  us  do  the  faithful  and  upright  Bongrand  the 
justice  to  say  that  before  he  re-entered  the  salon  he  had 
abandoned,  not  without  deep  regret  for  his  son,  the 
hope  he  had  cherished  of  some  day  calling  Ursula  his 
daughter.  He  meant  to  give  his  son  six  thousand 
francs  a  year  the  day  he  was  appointed  substitute,  and 
if  the  doctor  would  give  Ursula  a  hundred  thousand 
francs  what  a  pearl  of  a  home  the  pair  would  make  ! 
His  Eugène  was  so  loyal  and  charming  a  fellow  !  Per- 
haps he  had  praised  his  Eugène  too  often,  and  that  had 
made  the  doctor  distrustful. 

"  I  shall  have  to  come  down  to  the  mayor's  daugh- 
ter," he  thought.  "  But  LTrsula  without  any  money  is 
worth  more  than  Mademoiselle  Levrault-Crémière  with 
a  million.  However,  the  thing  to  be  done  is  to  ma- 
nœuvre the  marriage  with  this  little  Portenduère  —  if 
she  reall}'  loves  him." 

The  doctor,  after  closing  the  door  to  the  library  and 
that  to  the  garden,  took  his  goddaughter  to  the  window 
which  opened  upon  the  river. 

"  What  ails  you,  my  child?"  he  said.  "  Your  life  is 
my  life.  Without  your  smiles  what  would  become  of 
me?" 

"  Savinien  in  prison  !  "'  she  said. 


Ursula.  145 

With  these  words  a  shower  of  tears  fell  from  her  eyes 
and  she  began  to  sob. 

"  Saved  !  "  thought  the  doctor,  who  was  holding  her 
pulse  with  great  anxiet}-.  "  Alas  !  she  has  all  the  sen- 
sitiveness of  my  poor  wife,"  he  thought,  fetching  a 
stethoscope  which  he  put  to  Ursula's  heart,  applying 
his  ear  to  it.  "  Ah,  that 's  all  right,"  he  said  to  him- 
self. "  I  did  not  know,  my  darling,  that  you  loved 
any  one  as  3'et,"  he  added,  looking  at  her  ;  "  but  think 
out  loud  to  me  as  you  think  to  yourself;  tell  me  all 
that  has  passed  between  3'ou." 

"I  do  not  love  him,  godfather;  we  have  never 
spoken  to  each  other,"  she  answered,  sobbing.  "But 
to  hear  he  is  in  prison,  and  to  know  that  you  —  harshly 
—  refused  to  get  him  out  —  you,  so  good  !  " 

"  Ursula,  my  dear  little  good  angel,  if  you  do  not 
love  him  why  did  you  put  that  little  red  dot  against 
Saint  Savinien's  day  just  as  you  put  one  before  that  of 
Saint  Denis?  Come,  tell  me  everything  about  ^our 
little  love-affair." 

Ursula  blushed,  swallowed  a  few  tears,  and  for  a 
moment  there  was  silence  between  them. 

"  Surely  j'ou  are  not  afraid  of  your  father,  3'our 
friend,  mother,  doctor,  and  godfather,  whose  heart  is 
now  more  tender  than  it  ever  has  been." 

"  No,  no,  dear  godfather,"  she  said.  "  I  will  open 
my  heart  to  you.     Last  May,  Monsieur  Savinien  came 

10 


146  Ursula. 

to  see  his  mother.  Until  then  I  had  never  taken 
notice  of  him.  When  he  left  home  to  live  in  Paris  I 
was  a  child,  and  I  did  not  see  any  difference  between 
him  and  —  all  of  you — except  perhaps  that  1  loved 
you,  and  never  thought  of  loving  an}'  one  else.  Mon- 
sieur Savinien  came  b}'  the  mail-post  the  night  before 
his  mother's  fête-day  ;  but  we  did  not  know  it.  At 
seven  the  next  morning,  after  I  had  said  m}'  praj^ers,  I 
opened  the  window  to  air  my  room  and  I  saw  the  win- 
dows in  Monsieur  Savinien's  room  open  ;  and  Monsieur 
Savinien  was  there,  in  a  dressing-gown,  arranging  his 
beard  ;  in  all  his  movements  there  was  such  grace  —  I 
mean,  he  seemed  to  me  so  charming.  He  combed  his 
black  moustache  and  the  little  tuft  on  his  chin,  and  I 
saw  his  white  throat —  so  round  !  —  must  I  tell  you  all? 
I  noticed  that  his  throat  and  face  and  that  beautiful 
black  hair  were  all  so  different  from  yours  when  I 
watch  you  arranging  your  beard.  There  came  —  I 
don't  know  how  —  a  sort  of  glow  into  nay  heart,  and 
up  into  m}-  throat,  ni}-  head  ;  it  came  so  violently  that 
I  sat  down  —  I  could  n't  stand,  I  trembled  so.  But 
I  longed  to  see  him  again,  and  presently  I  got  up  ; 
he  saw  me  then,  and,  just  for  play,  he  sent  me  a  kiss 
from  the  tips  of  his  fingers  and  —  " 

"And?" 

"  And  then,"  she  continued,  "  I  hid  mj'self — I  was 
ashamed,  but  happj^  —  why  should  I   be   ashamed  of 


Ursula.  147 

being  happy  ?  That  feehng  —  it  dazzled  my  soul 
and  gave  it  some  power,  but  I  don't  know  what — it 
came  again  each  time  I  saw  within  me  the  same 
young  face.  I  loved  this  feeling,  violent  as  it  was. 
Going  to  mass,  some  unconquerable  power  made  me 
look  at  Monsieur  Savinien  with  his  mother  on  his  arm  ; 
his  walk,  his  clothes,  even  the  tap  of  his  boots  on  the 
pavement,  seemed  to  me  so  charming.  The  least  little 
thing  about  him  —  his  hand  with  the  delicate  glove 
—  acted  like  a  spell  upon  me  ;  and  3'et  I  had  strength 
enough  not  to  think  of  him  during  mass.  When  the 
service  was  over  I  sta^'ed  in  the  church  to  let  Madame 
de  Portenduère  go  first,  and  then  I  walked  behind  liim. 
I  could  n't  tell  you  how  these  little  things  excited  me. 
When  I  reached  home,  I  turned  round  to  fasten  the 
iron  gate  —  " 

"  Where  was  La  Bougival?  "  asked  the  doctor. 

"  Oh,  I  let  her  go  to  the  kitchen,"  said  Ursula  sim- 
ply. "  Then  I  saw  Monsieur  Savinien  standing  quite 
still  and  looking  at  me.  Oh  !  godfather,  I  was  so  pj-oud, 
for  I  thought  I  saw  a  look  in  his  e3'es  of  surprise 
and  admiration  —  I  don't  know  what  I  would  not  do  to 
make  him  look  at  me  again  like  that.  It  seemed  to  me 
I  ought  to  think  of  nothing  forevermore  but  pleasing 
him.  That  glance  is  now  the  best  reward  I  have  for 
an}'  good  I  do.  From  that  moment  I  have  thought  of 
him  incessantly,  in  spite  of  myself     Monsieur  Savinien 


148  Ursula. 

went  back  to  Paris  that  evening,  and  I  have  not  seen 
him  since.  The  street  seems  empt}-  ;  he  took  my  heart 
awa}^  with  him  —  but  he  does  not  know  it." 

"  Is  that  all?  "  asked  the  old  man. 

"  All,  dear  godfather,"  she  said,  with  a  sigh  of  regret 
that  there  was  not  more  to  tell. 

"My  little  girl,"  said  the  doctor,  putting  her  on  his 
knee;  "you  are  nearly  sixteen  and  your  womanhood 
is  beginning.  You  are  now  between  30ur  blessed 
childhood,  which  is  ending,  and  the  emotions  of  love, 
which  will  make  your  life  a  tumultuous  one  ;  for  you 
have  a  nervous  system  of  exquisite  sensibility-.  What 
has  happened  to  you,  my  child,  is  love,"  said  the  old 
man  with  an  expression  of  deepest  sadness,  —  "  love  in 
its  hoi}'  simplicity  ;  love  as  it  ought  to  be  ;  involuntaiy, 
sudden,  coming  like  a  thief  who  takes  all  —  3-es,  all! 
I  expected  it.  I  have  studied  women  ;  man}-  need 
proofs  and  miracles  of  affection  before  love  conquers 
them  ;  but  others  there  are,  under  the  influence  of  sym- 
pathies explainable  to-day  b}'  magnetic  fluids,  who  are 
possessed  b}'  it  ir  an  instant.  To  you  I  can  now  tell 
all  —  as  soon  as  1  saw  the  charming  woman  whose 
name  you  bear,  I  felt  that  I  should  love  her  forever, 
solel}-  and  faitlifull}',  without  knowing  whether  our 
characters  or  our  persons  suited  each  other.  Is  there  a 
second-sight  in  love  ?  What  answer  can  I  give  to  that, 
I  who  have  seen  so  man}'  unions  formed  under  celestial 


Ursula.  149 

auspices  only  to  be  ruptured  later,  giving  rise  to  hatreds 
that  are  well-nigh  eternal,  to  repugnances  that  are  un- 
conquerable. The  senses  sometimes  harmonize  while 
ideas  are  at  variance  ;  and  some  persons  live  more  by 
their  minds  than  by  their  bodies.  The  contrary  is  also 
true  ;  often  minds  agree  and  persons  displease.  These 
phenomena,  the  varying  and  secret  cause  of  many  sor- 
rows, show  the  wisdom  of  laws  which  give  parents 
supreme  power  over  the  marriages  of  their  children  ;  for 
a  young  girl  is  often  duped  by  one  or  other  of  these 
hallucinations.  Therefore  I  do  not  blame  you.  The 
sensations  you  feel,  the  rush  of  sensibility  which  has 
come  from  its  hidden  source  upon  your  heart  and  upon 
yonv  mind,  the  happiness  with  which  you  think  of  Sa- 
vinien,  are  all  natural.  But,  my  darling  child,  societ}' 
demands,  as  our  good  abbé  has  told  us,  the  sacrifice  of 
many  natural  inclinations.  The  destinies  of  men  and 
women  differ.  I  was  able  to  choose  Ursula  Mirouët  for 
m}^  wife  ;  I  could  go  to  her  and  sa}'  that  I  loved  her  ; 
but  a  young  girl  is  false  to  herself  if  she  asks  the  love 
of  the  man  she  loves.  A  woman  has  not  the  right 
which  men  have  to  seek  the  accomplishment  of  her 
hopes  in  open  day.  Modest}'  is  to  her  —  above  all  to 
you,  my  Ursula,  —  the  insurmountable  barrier  which 
protects  the  secrets  of  her  heart.  Your  hesitation  in 
confiding  to  me  these  first  emotions  shows  me  you  would 
suffer  cruel  torture  rather  than  admit  to  Savinien  —  " 


150  Ursula. 

"  Oh,  yes  !  "  she  said. 

"  But,  m}^  child,  you  must  do  more.  You  must  re- 
press these  feelings  ;  you  must  forget  them." 

"Why?" 

"  Because,  my  darling,  you  must  love  onl}-  the  man 
you  many  ;  and,  even  if  Monsieur  Savinien  de  Porten- 
duère  loved  you  —  " 

"  I  never  thought  of  it." 

"  But  listen  :  even  if  he  loved  30U,  even  if  his  mother 
asked  me  to  give  huu  jour  hand,  I  should  not  consent 
to  the  marriage  until  I  had  subjected  him  to  a  long  and 
thorough  probation.  His  conduct  has  been  such  as  to 
make  families  distrust  him  and  to  put  obstacles  between 
himself  and  heiresses  which  cannot  be  easily  overcome." 

A  soft  smile  came  in  place  of  tears  on  Ursula's  sweet 
face  as  she  said,  "Then  poverty  is  good  sometimes." 

The  doctor  could  find  no  answer  to  such  innocence. 

"  What  has  he  done,  godfather?"  she  asked. 

"  In  two  jears,  mj'  treasure,  he  has  incurred  one 
hundred  and  twenty  thousand  francs  of  debt.  He  has 
had  the  foil}'  to  get  himself  locked  up  in  Sainte- 
Pélagie,  the  debtor's  prison  ;  an  impropriety  which  will 
always  be,  in  these  daj^s,  a  discredit  to  him.  A  spend- 
thrift who  is  willing  to  plunge  his  poor  mother  into 
povert}-  and  distress  might  cause  his  wife,  as  your  poor 
father  did,  to  die  of  despair." 

"  Don't  you  think  he  will  do  better?  "  she  asked. 


Ursula.  151 

"  If  his  mother  pays  his  debts  he  will  be  penniless, 
and  I  don't  know  a  worse  punisliment  than  to  be  a 
nobleman  without  means." 

This  answer  made  Ursula  thoughtful  ;  she  dried  her 
tears,  and  said  :  — 

"  If  you  can  save  him,  save  him,  godfather  ;  that 
service  will  give  you  a  right  to  advise  him  ;  you  can 
remonstrate  —  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  doctor,  imitating,  her,  "  and  then  he 
can  come  here,  and  the  old  lady  will  come  here,  and  we 
shall  see  them,  and  —  " 

"  I  was  thinking  only  of  him,"  said  Ursula,  blushing. 

"  Don't  think  of  him,  m}'  child  ;  it  would  be  folly," 
said  the  doctor  gravel}'.  "  Madame  de  Portenduère, 
who  was  a  Kergarouët,  would  never  consent,  even  if  she 
had  to  live  on  three  hundred  francs  a  3'ear,  to  the  mar- 
riage of  her  son,  the  Vicomte  Savinien  de  Portenduère, 
with  whom?  —  with  Ursula  Mirouet,  daughter  of  a 
bandsman  in  a  regiment,  without  mone}',  and  whose 
father  —  alas  !  I  must  now  tell  3*ou  all  —  was  the  bas- 
tard son  of  an  organist,  my  father-in-law." 

"O  godfather!  you  are  right;  we  are  equal  only  in 
the  sight  of  God.  I  will  not  think  of  hnn  again  —  ex- 
cept in  my  pra3-ers,"  she  said,  amid  the  sobs  which  this 
painful  revelation  excited.  "  Give  him  what  you  meant 
to  give  me  —  what  can  a  poor  girl  like  me  want?  —  ah, 
in  prison,  he  !  —  " 


152  Ursula. 

"  Offer  to  God  yonv  disappointments,  and  perhaps 
he  will  help  us." 

There  was  silence  for  some  minutes.  When  Ursula, 
who  at  first  did  not  dare  to  look  at  her  godfather,  raised 
her  eyes,  her  heart  was  deeplj'  moved  to  see  the  tears 
which  were  rolling  down  his  withered  cheeks.  The 
teai's  of  old  men  are  as  terrible  as  those  of  children  are 
natural. 

"Oh  what  is  it?"  cried  Ursula,  flinging  herself  at 
his  feet  and  kissing  his  hands.  "  Are  you  not  sure  of 
me?" 

"  I,  who  longed  to  gratif}'  all  ^our  wishes,  it  is  I  who 
am  obliged  to  cause  the  first  great  sorrow  of  ^our  life  !  " 
he  said.  "  I  suffer  as  much  as  you.  1  never  wept  be- 
fore, except  when  I  lost  my  children  —  and,  Ursula  — 
Yes,"  he  cried  suddenly-,  "  I  will  do  all  you  desire  !  " 

Ursula  gave  him,  through  her  tears,  a  look  that  was 
vivid  as  lightning.     She  smiled. 

"  Let  us  go  into  the  salon,  darling,"  said  the  doctor. 
"  Try  to  keep  the  secret  of  all  this  to  yourself,"  he 
added,  leaving  her  alone  for  a  moment  in  his  study. 

He  felt  himself  so  weak  before  that  heavenly  smile 
that  he  feared  he  might  say  a  word  of  hope  and  thus 
mislead  her. 


Ursula.  153 


X. 

THE  FAMILY  OF  PORTENDUÈRE. 

Madame  d:.  Portenduère  was  at  this  moment  alone 
with  the  abbé  in  her  frigid  little  salon  on  the  ground- 
floor,  having  finished  the  recital  of  her  troubles  to  the 
good  priest,  her  only  friend.  She  held  in  her  hand 
some  letters  which  he  had  just  returned  to  her  after 
reading  them  ;  these  letters  had  brought  her  troubles 
to  a  climax.  Seated  on  her  sofa  beside  a  square  table 
covered  with  the  remains  of  a  dessert,  the  old  lad}-  was 
looking  at  the  abbé,  who  sat  on  the  other  side  of  the 
table,  doubled  up  in  his  armchair  and  stroking  his 
chin  with  the  gesture  common  to  valets  on  the  stage, 
mathematicians,  and  priests,  —  a  sign  of  profound  med- 
itation on  a  problem  that  was  difficult  to  solve. 

This  little  salon,  lighted  by  two  windows  on  the 
street  and  finished  with  a  wainscot  painted  gra}-,  was 
so  damp  that  the  lower  panels  showed  the  geometrical 
cracks  of  rotten  wood  when  the  paint  no  longer  binds 
it.  The  red-tiled  floor,  polished  by  the  old  lad^-'s  one 
servant,  required,  for  comfort's  sake,  before  each  seat 
small  round  mats  of  brown  straw,  on  one  of  which  the 
abbé  was  now  resting  his   feet.     The  old  damask  cur- 


154  Ursula. 

tains  of  light  green  with  green  flowers  were  drawn,  and 
the  outside  blinds  had  been  closed.  Two  wax  candles 
lighted  the  table,  leaving  the  rest  of  the  room  in  semi- 
obscurit3\  Is  it  necessary  to  say  that  between  the  two 
windows  was  a  fine  pastel  by  Latour  representing  the 
famous  Admiral  de  Portenduère,  the  rival  of  the  Suff- 
ren,  Guichen,  Kergarouet  and  Simeuse  naval  heroes? 
On  the  panelled  wall  opposite  to  the  fireplace  were  por- 
traits of  the  Vicomte  de  Portenduère  and  of  the  mother 
of  the  old  lad}',  a  Kergarouet-Ploegat.  Savinien's  great- 
uncle  was  therefore  the  Vice-admiral  de  Kergarouet, 
and  his  cousin  was  the  Comte  de  Portenduère,  grandson 
of  the  admiral,  —  both  of  them  very  rich. 

The  Vice-admiral  de  Kergarouet  lived  in  Paris  and 
the  Comte  de  Portenduère  at  the  château  of  that  name 
in  Dauphiné.  The  count  represented  the  elder  branch, 
and  Savinien  was  the  only  scion  of  the  younger.  The 
count,  who  was  over  forty  years  of  age  and  married  to 
a  rich  wife,  had  three  children.  His  fortune,  increased 
by  various  legacies,  amounted,  it  was  said,  to  sixt}' 
thousand  francs  a  year.  As  deputy  from  the  Isère  he 
passed  his  winters  in  Paris,  where  he  had  bought  the 
hotel  de  Portenduère  with  the  indemnities  he  obtained 
under  the  Villèle  law.  The  vice-adnn'ral  had  recently' 
married  his  niece  by  marriage,  Mademoiselle  de  Fon- 
tauie,  for  the  sole  purpose  of  securing  his  money  to  her. 

The  faults  of  the  young  viscount  were  therefore  likely 


Ursula.  155 

to  cost  him  the  favor  of  two  powerful  protectors.  If 
Savinien  had  entered  the  nav^-,  young  and  handsome 
as  he  was,  with  a  famous  name,  and  backed  b}'  the 
influence  of  an  admiral  and  a  deput}',  he  might,  at 
t went}'- three  years  of  age,  have  been  a  lieutenant  ;  but 
his  mother,  unwilling  that  her  only  son  should  go  into 
either  naval  or  military  service,  had  kept  him  at  Ne- 
mours under  the  tutelage  of  one  of  the  Abbé  Chaperon's 
assistants,  hoping  that  she  could  keep  him  near  her 
until  her  death.  She  meant  to  marr}-  him  to  a  demoi- 
selle d'Aiglemont  with  a  fortune  of  twelve  thousand 
francs  a  year  ;  to  whose  hand  the  name  of  Portenduere 
and  the  farm  at  Bordiëres  enal)led  him  to  pretend. 
This  narrow  but  judicious  plan,  which  would  have  car- 
ried the  family  to  the  second  generation,  was  already 
balked  by  events.  The  d'Aiglemonts  were  ruined, 
and  one  of  the  daughters,  Hélène,  had  disappeared, 
and  the  mystery  of  her  disappearance  was  never  solved. 
The  weariness  of  a  life  without  atmosphere,  without 
prospects,  without  action,  without  other  nourishment 
than  the  love  of  a  son  for  his  mother,  so  worked  upon 
Savinien  that  he  burst  his  chains,  gentle  as  they  were, 
and  swore  that  he  would  never  live  in  the  provinces  — 
compreliending,  rather  late,  that  his  future  fate  was 
not  to  be  in  the  Rue  des  Bourgeois.  At  twenty-one 
years  of  age  he  left  his  mother's  house  to  make  ac- 
quaintance with  his  relations,  and  tiy  his  luck  in  Paris. 


156  Ursula. 

The  contrast  between  life  in  Paris  and  life  in  Nemours 
was  likely  to  be  fatal  to  a  3'oung  man  of  twenty-one, 
free,  with  no  one  to  sa}'  him  nay,  naturally  eager  for 
pleasure,  and  for  whom  his  name  and  his  connections 
opened  the  doors  of  all  the  salons.  Quite  convinced 
that  his  mother  had  the  savings  of  man}'  years  in  her 
strong-box,  Savinien  soon  spent  the  six  thousand  francs 
which  she  had  given  him  to  see  Paris.  That  sum  did 
not  defray  his  expenses  for  six  months,  and  he  soon 
owed  double  that  sum  to  his  hotel,  his  tailor,  his  boot- 
maker, to  the  man  from  whom  he  hired  his  carriages 
and  horses,  to  a  jeweller,  —  in  short,  to  all  those  traders 
and  shopkeepers  who  contribute  to  the  luxury  of  young 
men. 

He  had  only  just  succeeded  in  making  himself  known, 
and  had  scarcely  learned  how  to  converse,  how  to  pre- 
sent himself  in  a  salon,  how  to  wear  his  waistcoats  and 
choose  them  and  to  order  his  coats  and  tie  his  cravat, 
before  he  found  himself  in  debt  for  over  thirt}'  thousand 
francs,  while  still  seeking  the  right  phrases  in  which  to 
declare  his  love  for  the  sister  of  the  Marquis  de  Ron- 
querolles,  the  elegant  Madame  de  Sériz},  whose  youth 
had  been  at  its  climax  during  the  Empire. 

"  How  is  that  you  all  manage?  "  asked  Savinien  one 
da}',  at  the  end  of  a  gay  breakfast  with  a  knot  of  young 
dandies,  with  whom  he  was  intimate  as  the  young  men 
of  the   present  day  are   intimate  with  each  other,  all 


Ursula.  157 

aiming  for  the  same  thing  und  all  claiming  an  impos- 
sible equality.  "  You  were  no  richer  than  I  and  yet 
3-ou  get  along  without  anxietj'  ;  you  contrive  to  main- 
tain 3'ourselves,  while  as  for  me  I  make  nothing  but 
debts." 

"  We  all  began  that  waj,"  answered  Rastignac,  laugh- 
ing, and  the  laugh  was  echoed  by  Lucien  de  Rubempré,  ■ 
Maxime  de  Trailles,  Emile  Blondet,  and  others  of  the 
fashionable  young  men  of  the  da}'. 

"  Though  de  Marsay  was  rich  when  he  started  in 
life  he  was  an  exception,"  said  the  host,  a  parvenu 
named  Finot,  ambitious  of  seeming  intimate  with  these 
3'oung  men.  "Any  one  but  he,"  added  Finot  bowing 
to  that  personage,  "  would  have  been  ruined  b}-  it." 

"  A  true  remark,"  said  Maxime  de  Trailles. 

"  And  a  true  idea,"  added  Rastignac. 

"  Mj"  dear  fellow,"  said  de  Marsaj',  gravely,  to  Sa- 
vinien  ;  "  debts  are  the  capital  stock  of  experience.  A 
good  university  education  with  tutors  for  all  branches, 
who  don't  teach  you  anything,  costs  sixt}'  thousand 
francs.  If  the  education  of  the  world  does  cost  double, 
at  least  it  teaches  you  to  understand  life,  politics,  men, 
—  and  sometimes  women." 

Blondet  concluded  the  lesson  b}'  a  paraphrase  from 
La  Fontaine  :  '  '  The  world  sells  dearly  what  we  think 
it  gives." 

Instead  of  laying  to  heart  the  sensible  advice  which 


158  Ursula. 

the  cleverest  pilots  of  the  Parisian  archipelago  gave 
him,   Savinien  took  it  all  as  a  joke. 

"  Take  care,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  de  Marsay  one 
da}-.  "  You  have  a  great  name  ;  if  you  dont  obtain  the 
fortune  that  name  requires  you'll  end  your  days  in 
the  uniform  of  a  cavalry-sergeant.  '  We  have  seen  the 
fall  of  nobler  heads,'"  he  added,  declaiming  the  line 
of  Corneille  as  he  took  Savinien's  arm.  "  About  six 
years  ago,"  he  continued,  "a  young  Comte  d'Esgrignon 
came  among  us  ;  but  he  did  not  staj'  two  3'ears  in  the 
paradise  of  the  great  world.  Alas  !  he  lived  and  moved 
like  a  rocket.  He  rose  to  the  Duchesse  de  Maufrig- 
neuse  and  fell  to  his  native  town,  where  he  is  now 
expiating  bis  faults  with  a  wheezy  old  father  and  a 
game  of  whist  at  two  sous  a  point.  Tell  Madame  de 
Sérizy  your  situation,  candidl}',  without  shame  ;  she 
wall  understand  it  and  be  very  useful  to  you.  Whereas, 
if  you  play  the  charade  of  first  love  with  her  she 
will  pose  as  a  Raffaelle  Madonna,  ^)ractise  all  the 
little  games  of  innocence  upon  30U,  and  take  3'ou 
journeying  at  enormous  cost  through  the  Land  of 
Sentiment." 

Savinien,  still  too  3'oung  and  too  pure  in  honor,  dared 
not  confess  his  position  as  to  money  to  Madame  de 
Sérizy.  At  a  moment  when  he  knew  not  which  wa}'  to 
turn  he  had  written  his  mother  an  appealing  letter,  to 
which  she  replied  by  sending  him  the  sum  of  twenty 


Ursula.  159 

thousand  francs,  which  was  all  she  possessed.  This 
assistance  brought  him  to  the  close  of  the  first  year. 
During  the  second,  being  harnessed  to  the  chariot  of 
Madame  de  Sériz^",  who  was  serious!}'  taken  with  him, 
and  who  was,  as  the  saying  is,  forming  him,  he  had 
recourse  to  the  dangerous  expedient  of  borrowing. 
One  of  his  friends,  a  deputy  and  the  friend  of  his  cousin 
the  Comte  de  Portenduère,  advised  him  in  his  distress 
to  go  to  Gobseck  or  Gigonnet  or  Palma,  who,  if  duly 
informed  as  to  his  mother's  means,  would  give  him  an 
easy  discount.  Usur}^  and  the  deceptive  help  of  re- 
newals enabled  him  to  lead  a  hapi')y  life  for  nearh' 
eighteen  months.  Without  daring  to  leave  Madame  de 
Sériz}-  the  poor  bo}'  had  fallen  raadl}'  in  love  with  the 
beautiful  Comtesse  de  Kergarouet,  a  prude  after  the 
fashion  of  young  women  who  are  awaiting  the  death  of 
an  old  husband  and  making  capital  of  their  virtue  in 
the  interests  of  a  second  marriage.  Quite  incapable  of 
understanding  that  calculating  virtue  is  invulnerable, 
Savinien  paid  court  to  Emilie  de  Kergarouet  in  all  the 
splendor  of  a  rich  man.  He  never  missed  either  ball 
or  theatre  at  which  she  was  present. 

"  You  have  n't  powder  enough,  m}'  boy,  to  blow  up 
that  rock,"  said  de  Marsn\'.  laughing. 

That  young  king  of  fashion  who  did,  out  of  commis- 
eration for  the  lad,  endeavor  to  explain  to  him  the 
nature  of  Emilie  de  Fontaine,  merci}'  wasted  his  words; 


160  Ursula. 

the  gloomy  lights  of  misfortune  and  the  twilight  of  a 
prison  were  needed  to  convince  Savinien. 

A  note,  iraprudentl^y  given  to  a  jeweller  in  collusion 
with  the  money-lenders,  who  did  not  wash  to  have  the 
odium  of  arresting  the  young  man,  was  the  means  of 
sending  Savinien  de  Portend uère,  in  default  of  one 
hundred  and  seventeen  thousand  francs  and  without 
the  knowledge  of  his  friends,  to  the  debtor's  prison  at 
Sainte-Pélagie.  So  soon  as  the  fact  was  known  Ras- 
tignac,  de  Marsa}',  and  Lucien  de  Rubempré  went 
to  see  him,  and  each  offered  him  a  banknote  of  a 
thousand  francs  when  thej'  found  how  really  destitute 
he  was.  Everything  belonging  to  him  had  been  seized 
except  the  clothes  and  the  few  jewels  that  he  wore. 
The  three  ^oung  men  (who  brought  an  excellent  dinner 
with  them)  discussed  Savinien's  situation  while  drink- 
ing de  Marsay's  wine,  ostensibly  to  arrange  for  his 
future  but  really,  no  doubt,  to  judge  of  him. 

"  When  a  man  is  named  Savinien  de  Portenduère," 
cried  Rastignac,  "  and  has  a  future  peer  of  France  for  a 
cousin  and  Admiral  Kergarouet  for  a  great-uncle,  and 
commits  the  enormous  blunder  of  allowing  himself  to 
be  put  in  Sainte-Pélagie,  it  is  very  certain  that  he  must 
not  stay  there,  my  good  fellow." 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me?"  cried  de  Marsay. 
"  You  could  I'.ave  had  m\-  travelling-carriage,  ten  thou- 
sand francs,  and  letters  of  introduction  for  Germany. 


Ursula.  161 

We  know  Gobseck  and  Gigonnet  and  the  other  croco- 
diles ;  we  could  have  made  them  capitulate.  But  tell 
me,  in  the  first  place,  what  ass  ever  led  you  to  drink  of 
that  cursed  spring." 

"  Des  Lupeaulx." 

The  three  3'oung  men  looked  at  each  other  with  one 
and  the  same  thought  and  suspicion,  but  they  did  not 
utter  it. 

"  Explain  all  your  resources  ;  show  us  3-our  hand," 
said  de  Marsay. 

When  Savinien  had  told  of  his  mother  and  her  old- 
fashioned  ways,  and  the  little  house  with  three  windows 
in  the  Rue  des  Bourgeois,  without  other  grounds  than  a 
court  for  the  well  and  a  shed  for  the  wood  ;  wlien  he 
had  valued  the  house,  built  of  sandstone  and  pointed  \n 
reddish  cement,  and  put  a  price  on  the  farm  at  Bor- 
dières,  the  three  dandies  looked  at  each  other,  and  all 
three  said  with  a  solemn  air  the  word  of  the  abbé 
in  Alfred  de  Musset's  "Marrons  du  feu"  (which  had 
then  just  appeared),  —  "  Sad  !  " 

"  Your  mother  will  pav  if  you  write  a  clever  letter," 
said  Rastignac. 

"  Yes,  but  afterwards?  "  cried  de  Marsay. 

"  If  you   had  mereh'  been  put  in  the  fiacre,"  said 
Lucien,  "the  government  would  find   you   a  place  in 
diplomac}',  but  Sainte-Pélagie  is  n't   the   antechamber 
of  an  embass}'." 
I  11 


162  Ursula. 

"  You  are  not  strong  enough  for  Parisian  life,"  said 
Rastignae. 

"  Let  us  consider  the  matter,"  said  de  Marsa}',  look- 
ing Savinien  over  as  a  jockey  examines  a  horse.  "  You 
have  fine  blue  e^-es,  well  opened,  a  white  forehead  well 
shaped,  magnificent  black  hair,  a  little  moustache 
which  suits  those  pale  cheeks,  and  a  slim  figure  ;  a'ou  've 
a  foot  that  tells  race,  shoulders  and  chest  not  quite 
those  of  a  porter,  but  solid.  You  are  what  I  call  an 
elegant  male  brunette.  Your  face  is  of  the  style 
Louis  XII.,  hardly  any  color,  well-formed  nose;  and 
you  have  the  thing  that  pleases  women,  a  something,  I 
don't  know  what  it  is,  which  men  take  no  account  of 
themselves  ;  it  is  in  the  air,  the  manner,  the  tone  of  the 
voice,  the  dart  of  the  eye,  the  gesture,  —  in  short,  in  a 
number  of  little  things  which  women  see  and  to  which 
they  attach  a  meaning  which  escapes  us.  You  don't 
know  yowY  merits,  my  dear  fellow.  Take  a  certain  tone 
and  st3ie  and  in  six  months  3'ou  '11  captivate  an  English- 
woman with  a  hundred  thousand  pounds  ;  but  30U  must 
call  yourself  viscount,  a  title  which  belongs  to  3-ou. 
M}'  charming  step-mother,  Lady  Dudley*,  who  has  not 
her  equal  for  matching  two  hearts,  will  find  j'ou  some 
such  woman  in  the  fens  of  Great  Britain.  What  you 
must  now  do  is  to  get  the  payment  of  your  debts  post- 
poned for  ninety  daj's.  Whj'  did  n't  you  tell  us  about 
them  ?    The  money-lenders  at  Baden  would  have  spared 


Ursula.  163 

j'ou  —  served  you  perhaps  ;  but  now,  after  3'ou  have 
once  been  in  prison,  they  '11  despise  you.  A  money- 
lender is,  like  society,  like  the  masses,  down  on  his 
knees  before  the  man  who  is  strong  enough  to  trick 
him,  and  pitiless  to  the  lambs.  To  the  ej^es  of  some 
persons  Sainte-Pélagie  is  a  she-devil  who  burns  the 
souls  of  3'oung  men.  Do  you  want  my  candid  advice  ? 
I  shall  tell  you  as  1  told  that  little  d'Esgrignon  :  '  Ar- 
range to  pay  3'our  debts  leisurel}'  ;  keep  enough  to  live 
on  for  three  jears,  and  marry  some  girl  in  the  prov- 
inces who  can  bring  30U  an  income  of  thirt}-  thousand 
francs.'  In  the  course  of  three  jears  you  can  surcl}' 
find  some  virtuous  heiress  who  is  willing  to  call  her- 
self Madame  la  Vicomtesse  de  Portenduère,  Such  is 
virtue,  —  let's  drink  to  it.  I  give  3'ou  a  toast:  'The 
girl  with  money  !  '  " 

The  young  men  did  not  leave  their  ex-friend  till  the 
official  hour  for  parting.  The  gate  was  no  sooner 
closed  behind  them  than  they  said  to  each  other: 
"He 'snot  strong  enough!"  "He's  quite  crushed." 
"1  don't  believe  he'll  pull  through  it?" 

The  next  day  Savinien  wrote  his  mother  a  confession 
in  twentj'-two  pages.  Madame  de  Portenduère,  after 
weeping  for  one  whole  da^',  wrote  first  to  her  son, 
promising  to  get  him  out  of  prison,  and  then  to  the 
Comte  de  Portenduère  and  to  Admiral  Kergarouet. 

The  letters  the  abbé  had  just  read  and  which  the 


1G4  Ursula. 

poor  mother  was  holding  in  her  hand  and  moistening 

with  tears,  were  the  answers  to  her  appeal,  which  had 

arrived    that    morning,    and    had    almost   broken   her 

heart. 

Paris,  September,  1829. 
To  Madame  de  Portenduère  : 

Madame,  —  You  cannot  doubt  the  interest  which  the  ad- 
miral and  I  both  feel  in  your  troubles.  What  you  ask  of 
Monsieur  de  Kergarouet  grieves  me  all  the  more  because  our 
house  was  a  home  to  your  son;  we  were  proud  of  him.  If 
Savinien  had  had  more  confidence  in  the  admiral  we  could 
have  taken  him  to  live  with  us  and  he  would  already  have 
obtained  some  good  situation.  But,  unfortunately,  he  told 
us  nothing  ;  he  ran  into  debt  of  his  own  accord,  and  even 
•involved  himself  for  me,  who  knew  nothing  of  his  pecuniary 
position.  It  is  all  the  more  to  be  regretted  because  Savinien 
has,  for  the  moment,  tied  our  hands  by  allowing  the  authori- 
ties to  arrest  him. 

If  my  nephew  had  not  shown  a  foolish  passion  for  me  and 
sacrificed  our  relationship  to  the  vanity  of  a  lover,  we  could 
have  sent  him  to  travel  in  Germany  while  his  affairs  were 
being  settled  here.  Monsieur  de  Kergarouet  intended  to  get 
him  a  place  in  the  War  office  ;  but  this  imprisonment  for 
debt  will  paralyze  such  efforts.  You  must  pay  his  debts;  let 
him  enter  the  navy  ;  he  will  make  his  way  like  the  true  Por- 
tenduère that  he  is  ;  he  has  the  fire  of  the  family  in  his  beau- 
tiful black  eyes,  and  we  will  all  help  him. 

Do  not  be  di.slieartened,  madame;  you  have  many  friends, 
among  whom  I  beg  you  to  consider  me  as  one  of  the  most 
sincere  ;  I  send  you  our  best  wishes,  with  the  respects  of 
Your  very  affectionate  servant, 

Emilie  de  Kergarouet. 


Ursula.  1G5 

The  second  letter  was  as  follows  :  — 

PORTENDUÈRE,   AugUSt,  1889. 

To  Madame  de  Portenduèke : 
My  dear  Aunt,  —  I  am  more  annoyed  than  surprised  at 

Savinien's  pranks.     As  I  am  married  and  the  father  of  two 

sons  and  one  daughter,  my  fortune,  already  too  small  for  my 

position  and  prospects,  cannot  be  lessened  to  ransom  a  Por- 

tenduere  from  the  hands  of  the  Jews.     Sell  your  farm,  pay 

his  debts,  and  come  and  live  with  us  at  Portenduère.     You 

shall  receive  the  welcome  we  owe  you,  even  though  our  views 

may  not  be  entirely  in  accordance  with  yours.     You  shall  be 

made  happy,  and  we  will  manage  to  marry  Savinien,  whom 

my  wife  thinks  charming.     This  little  outbreak  is  nothing  ; 

do  not  make  yourself  unhappy  ;  it  will  never  be  known  in 

this  part  of  the  country,  where  there  are  a  number  of  rich 

girls  who  would  be  delighted  to  enter  our  family. 

My   wife    joins  me    in    assuring    you    of    the   happiness 

you  would  give  us,  and  I  beg  you  to  accept  her  wishes  for 

the  realization  of  this  plan,  together  with  my  affectionate 

respects. 

Luc-Savinien,  Comte  de  Portenduère. 

"  What  letters  for  a  Kergarouet  to  receive!"  cried 
the  old  Breton  lad}',  wnping  her  ej^es. 

"The  admiial  does  not  know  his  nephew  is  in 
prison,"  said  the  Abbé  Chaperon  at  last  ;  "  the  countess 
alone  read  your  letter,  and  has  answered  it  for  him.  But 
3'ou  must  decide  at  once  on  some  course,"  he  added 
after  a  pause,  "  and  this  is  what  I  have  the  honor  to 
advise.  Do  not  sell  your  farm.  The  lease  is  just  out, 
having  lasted  twenty-four  years  ;  in  a  few  months  3-011 


1G6  Ursula. 

can  raise  the  rent  to  six  thousand  francs  and  get  a 
premium  for  double  that  amount.  Borrow  what  you 
need  of  some  honest  man,  —  not  from  the  townspeople 
who  make  a  business  of  mortgages.  Your  neighbor 
here  is  a  most  worthy  man  ;  a  man  of  good  society, 
who  knew  it  as  it  was  before  the  Revolution,  who 
was  once  an  atheist,  and  is  now  an  earnest  Catholic. 
Do  not  let  your  feelings  debar  3'ou  from  going  to  his 
house  this  very  evening  ;  he  will  fully  understand  the 
step  3'Ou  take  ;  forget  for  a  moment  that  you  are  a 
Kergarouet." 

"  Never  !  "  said  the  old  mother,  in  a  sharp  voice. 

"  Well,  then,  be  an  amiable  Kergarouet  ;  come 
when  he  is  alone.  He  will  lend  you  the  mone}-  at  three 
and  a  half  per  cent,  perhaps  even  at  three  per  cent,  and 
will  do  3'ou  this  service  delicately  ;  3'ou  will  be  pleased 
with  him.  He  can  go  to  Paris  and  release  Savinien 
himself,  —  for  he  will  have  to  go  there  to  sell  out  his 
funds,  —  and  he  can  bring  the  lad  back  to  30U." 

"  Are  you  speaking  of  that  little  Minoret?  " 

"  That  little  Minoret  is  eighty-three  years  old,"  said 
the  abbé,  smiling.  ''My  dear  ladj-,  do  have  a  little 
Christian  charit}- ;  don't  wound  him, — he  might  be 
useful  to  you  in  other  ways." 

"What  ways?" 

"  He  has  an  angel  in  his  house;  a  precious  young 
girl-" 


Ursula.  167 

"  Oh  !  that  little  Ursula.     What  of  that?  " 

The  pool"  abbé  did  not  dare  pursue  the  subject  after 
these  significant  words,  the  laconic  sharpness  of  which 
cut  through  the  proposition  he  was  about  to  make. 

"  I  think  Doctor  Minoret  is  very  rich,"  he  said. 

"  So  much  the  better  for  him." 

"  You  have  indirectly  caused  your  son's  misfortunes 
by  refusing  to  give  him  a  profession  ;  beware  for  the 
future,"  said  the  abbé  sternlj'.  "Am  I  to  tell  Doctor 
Minoret  that  you  are  coming  ?  " 

"  Why  cannot  he  come  to  me  if  he  knows  I  want 
him?  "  she  replied. 

"Ah,  madame,  if  you  go  to  him  you  will  pa}'  him 
three  per  cent  ;  if  he  comes  to  you  3'ou  will  pa}'  him 
five,"  said  the  abbé,  inventing  this  reason  to  influ- 
ence the  old  lady.  "  And  if  you  are  forced  to  sell 
your  farm  by  Dionis  the  notary,  or  by  Massin  the 
clerk  (who  would  refuse  to  lend  you  the  money,  know- 
ing it  was  more  their  interest  to  buy),  you  would  lose 
half  its  value.  I  have  not  the  slightest  influence  on 
the  Dionis,  Massins,  or  Levraults,  or  any  of  those  rich 
men  who  covet  your  farm  and  know  that  your  son  is 
in  prison." 

"They  know  it!  oh,  do  they  know  it?"  she  ex- 
claimed, throwing  up  her  arms.  "There!  my  poor 
abbé,  you  have  let  your  coflTee  get  cold  !  Tiennette, 
Tiennette  !  " 


168  Ursnla. 

Tiennette,  an  old  Breton  servant  sixty  years  of  age, 
wearing  a  short  gown  and  a  Breton  cap,  came  quickly 
in  and  took  the  abbe's  coffee  to  warm  it. 

"  Let  be,  Monsieur  le  recteur,"  she  said,  seeing  that 
the  abbé  meant  to  drink  it,  "I'll  just  put  it  into  the 
bain-marie,  it  won't  spoil  it." 

"Well,"  said  the  abbé  to  Madame  de  Portenduère 
in  his  most  insinuating  voice,  "  I  shall  go  and  tell  the 
doctor  of  A^our  visit,  and  you  will  come  —  " 

The  old  mother  did  not  yield  till  after  an  hour's  dis- 
cussion, during  which  the  abbé  was  forced  to  repeat  his 
arguments  at  least  ten  times.  And  even  then  the  proud 
Kergarouet  was  not  vanquished  until  he  used  the  words, 
"  Savinien  would  go.'' 

"  It  is  better  that  I  should  go  than  he,"  she  said. 


Ursula.  169 


XI. 

SAVINIEN   SAVED. 

The  clock  was  striking  nine  when  the  little  door 
made  in  the  large  door  of  Madame  de  Portenduère's 
house  closed  on  the  abbé,  who  immediately  crossed  the 
road  and  hastily  rang  the  bell  at  the  doctor's  gate. 
He  fell  from  Tiennette  to  La  Bougival  ;  the  one  said  to 
him,  "Why  do  you  come  so  late,  Monsieur  l'abbé?" 
as  the  other  had  said,  "  Why  do  you  leave  Madame  so 
earl}'  when  she  is  in  trouble  ?  " 

The  abbé  found  a  numerous  company  assembled  in 
the  green  and  brown  salon  ;  for  Dionis  had  stopped  at 
Massin's  on  his  wa}'  home  to  re-assure  the  heirs  by 
repeating  their  uncle's  words. 

"  I  believe  Ursula  has  a  love-affair,"  said  he,  "  which 
will  be  nothing  but  pain  and  trouble  to  her  ;  she  seems 
romantic  "  (extreme  sensibility  is  so  called  by  notaries), 
"and,  3'ou'll  see,  she  won't  marry  soon.  Therefore, 
don't  show  her  any  distrust  ;  be  very  attentive  to  her 
and  very  respectful  to  3'our  uncle,  for  he  is  slyer  than 
fifty  Goupils,"  added  the  notary  —  without  being  aware 
that  Goupil  is  a  corruption  of  the  word  viilpes,  a  fox. 


170  Ursula. 

So  Mesdames  Massin  and  Crémière  with  their  hus- 
bands, the  post  master  and  Désiré,  together  with  the 
Nemours  doctor  and  Bongrand,  made  an  unusual  and 
noisy  part}'  in  the  doctor's  salon.  As  the  abbé  entered 
he  heard  the  sound  of  the  piano.  Poor  Ursula  was 
just  finishing  a  sonata  of  Beetlioven's.  With  girlish 
mischief  she  had  chosen  that  grand  music,  which  must 
be  studied  to  be  understood,  for  the  purpose  of  dis- 
gusting these  women  with  the  thing  the}-  coveted.  The 
finer  the  music  tlie  less  ignorant  persons  like  it.  So, 
when  the  door  opened  and  the  abbe's  venerable  head 
appeared  they  all  cried  out:  "Ah!  here's  Monsieur 
l'abbé  !  "  in  a  tone  of  relief,  delighted  to  jump  up  and 
put  an  end  to  their  torture. 

The  exclamation  was  echoed  at  the  caid-table,  where 
Bongrand,  the  Nemours  doctor,  and  old  Miuoret  were 
victims  to  the  presumption  with  which  the  collector,  in 
order  to  propitiate  his  great-uncle,  had  proposed  to 
take  the  fourth  hand  at  whist.  Ursula  left  the  piano. 
Tlie  doctor  rose  as  if  to  receive  the  abbé,  but  really  to 
put  an  end  to  the  game.  After  many  compliments  to 
their  uncle  on  the  wonderful  proficiency  of  his  god- 
daughter, the  heirs  made  their  bow  and  retired. 

"  Good-niglit,  m}'  friends,"  cried  the  doctor  as  the 
iron  gate  clanged. 

"■Ah!  that's  where  the  mone}' goes,"  said  Madame 
Crémière  to  Madame  Massin,  as  they  walked  on. 


Ursula,  171 

"  God  forbid  that  I  should  spend  money  to  teach 
m}^  little  Aline  to  make  such  a  diu  as  that  !  "  cried 
Madame  Massin. 

"  She  said  it  was  Beethoven,  who  is  thought  to  be  a 
fine  musician,"  said  the  collector;  "he  has  quite  a 
reputation." 

"  Not  in  Nemours,  I'm  sure  of  that,"  said  Madame 
Crémière. 

"  I  believe  uncle  made  her  play  it  expressly'  to  drive 
us  away,"  said  Massin  ;  "  for  I  saw  him  give  that  little 
minx  a  wink  as  she  opened  the  music-book." 

"If  that's  the  sort  of  charivari  they  like,"  said 
the  post  master,  "  the}'  are  quite  right  to  keep  to 
themselves.'' 

"  Monsieur  Bongrand  must  be  fond  of  whist  to  stand 
such  a  dreadful  racket,"  said  Madame  Crémière. 

"  I  shall  never  be  able  to  play  before  persons  who 
don't  understand  music,"  Ursula  was  sa3ing  as  she  sat 
down  beside  the  whist-table. 

"In  natures  richl}'  organized,"  said  the  abbé,  "  sen- 
timents can  be  developed  onl}'  in  a  congenial  atmos- 
phere. Just  as  a  priest  is  unable  to  give  the  blessing 
in  presence  of  an  evil  spirit,  or  as  a  chestnut-tree  dies 
in  a  cla^'  soil,  so  a  musician's  genius  has  a  mental 
eclipse  when  he  is  surrounded  bj*  ignorant  persons.  In 
all  the  arts  we  must  receive  from  the  souls  who  make 
the  (Mivironnient  of  our  souls  as  much  intensity  as  we 


172  Ursula. 

convey  to  them.  This  axiom,  which  rules  the  human 
mind,  has  been  made  into  proverbs  :  '  Howl  with  the 
wolve?  ;  '  '  Like  meets  like.'  But  the  suffering  30U  felt, 
Ursula,  affects  delicate  and  tender  natures  onlv." 

"  And  so,  friends,"  said  the  doctor,  "  a  thing  which 
would  merely  give  pain  to  most  women  might  kill  my 
little  Ursula.  Ah  !  when  I  am  no  longer  here,  I  charge 
3'ou  to  see  that  the  hedge  of  which  Catullus  spoke,  — 
Ut  flos^  etc., — a  protecting  hedge  is  raised  between 
this  cherished  flower  and  the  world." 

"  And  3'et  those  ladies  flattered  you,  Ursula,"  said 
Monsieur  Bongrand,  smiling. 

"  Flattered  her  grosslj^,"  remarked  the  Nemours 
doctor. 

"  I  have  always  noticed  how  vulgar  forced  flattery 
is,"  said  old  Minoret.     "  Why  is  that?  " 

"A  true  thought  has  its  own  delicacy,"  said  the 
abbé. 

"Did  you  dine  with  Madame  de  Portenduère?" 
asked  Ursula,  with  a  look  of  anxious  curiosit}'. 

"Yes;  the  poor  lad}^  is  terribly  distressed.  It  is 
possible  she  may  come  to  see  you  this  evening,  Mon- 
sieur Minoret." 

Ursula  pressed  lier  godfather's  hand  under  the  table, 

"  Her  son,"  said  Bongrand,  "  was  rather  too  simple- 
minded  to  live  in  Paris  without  a  mentor.  When  I 
heard  that  mquiries  were  being  made  here  about  the 


Ursula.  173 

propert}'  of  the  old  lad}'  I  feared  he  was  discounting 
her  death." 

"Is  it  possible  yo\x  think  him  capable  of  it?"  said 
Ursula,  with  such  a  terrible  glance  at  Monsieur  Bon- 
grand  that  he  said  to  himself  rather  sadl}-,  '  '  Alas  !  3'es, 
she  loves  him." 

"  Yes  and  no,"  said  the  Nemours  doctor,  repl3-ing  to 
Ursula's  question.  "  There  is  a  great  deal  of  good  in 
Savinien,  and  that  is  wh}-  he  is  now  in  prison  ;  a 
scamp  wouldn't  have  got  there." 

"Don't  let  us  talk  about  it  an}-  more,"  said  old 
Minoret.  "  The  poor  mother  must  not  be  allowed  to 
weep  if  there 's  a  way  to  dr}'  her  tears." 

The  four  friends  rose  and  went  out  ;  Ursula  accom- 
panied them  to  the  gate,  saw  her  godfather  and  the 
abbé  knock  at  the  opposite  door,  and  as  soon  as  Tien- 
nette  admitted  them  she  sat  down  on  the  outer  wall 
with  La  Bougival  beside   her. 

"  Madame  la  vicomtesse,"  said  the  abbé,  who  entered 
first  into  the  little  salon,  "  Monsieur  le  docteur  Minoret 
was  not  willing  that  you  should  have  the  trouble  of 
coming  to  him  —  " 

"  I  am  too  much  of  the  old  school,  madame,"  inter- 
rupted the  doctor,  "  not  to  know  what  a  man  owes  to  a 
woman  of  3-our  rank,  and  I  am  ver}-  glad  to  be  able,  as 
Monsieur  l'abbé  tells  me,  to  be  of  service  to  you." 

Madame  de  Portenduère,  who  disliked  the  step  the 


174  Ursula. 

abbé  had  advised  so  much  that  she  had  almost  decided, 
after  he  left  her,  to  apply  to  the  notary  instead,  was 
surprised  by  Minoret's  attention  to  such  a  degree  that 
she  rose  to  receive  him  and  signed  to  him  to  take  a- 
chair. 

"■Be  seated,  monsieur,"  she  said  with  a  regal  air. 
"  Our  dear  abbé  has  told  you  that  the  viscount  is  in 
prison  on  account  of  some  3'outhful  debts,  —  a  hundred 
thousand  francs  or  so.  If  you  could  lend  them  to  him 
I  would  secure  you  on  my  farm  at  Bordieres." 

"  We  will  talk  of  that,  madame,  when  I  have  brought 
your  son  back  to  3'ou  —  if  you  will  allow  me  to  be  your 
emissar}'  in  the  matter." 

"  Very  good,  monsieur,"  she  said,  bowing  her  head, 
and  looking  at  the  abbè  as  if  to  say,  "  You  were  right  ; 
he  really  is  a  man  of  good  society." 

"  You  see,  madame,"  said  the  abbé,  "  that  my  friend 
the  doctor  is  full  of  devotion  to  3'our  family." 

"  We  shall  be  grateful,  monsieur,"  said  Madame  de 
Portenduère,  making  a  visible  effort;  "a  journey  to 
Paris,  at  your  age,  in  quest  of  a  prodigal,  is  — " 

"  Madame,  I  had  the  honor  to  meet,  in  '65,  the  illus- 
trious Admiral  de  Portenduère  in  the  house  of  that 
excellent  Monsieur  de  Malesherbes,  and  also  in  that  of 
Monsieur  le  Comte  de  Buffon,  who  was  anxious  to 
question  him  on  some  curious  results  of  his  vo^'ages. 
Possiblv  Monsieur  de  Portenduère,  your  late  husband. 


Ursula.  175 

was  present.  Those  were  the  glorious  days  of  the 
French  navy  ;  it  bore  comparison  with  that  of  Great 
Britain,  and  its  officers  had  their  full  quota  of  courage. 
With  what  impatience  we  awaited  in  '83  and  '84  the 
news  from  St.  Roch.  I  came  very  near  serving  as  sur- 
geon in  the  king's  service.  Your  great-uncle,  who  is 
still  living.  Admiral  Kergarouet,  fought  his  splendid 
battle  at  that  time  in  the   '  Belle-Poule.'  " 

"  Ah  !  if  he  did  but  know  his  great- nephew  is  in 
prison  !  " 

"  He  would  not  leave  him  there  a  day,"  said  old 
Minoret,   rising. 

He  held  out  his  hand  to  take  that  of  the  old  lady, 
which  she  allowed  him  to  do  ;  then  he  kissed  it  respect- 
full}-,  bowed  profoundly',  and  left  the  room  ;  but  returned 
immediately  to  say  :  — 

"  My  dear  abbé,  may  I  ask  3'ou  to  engage  a  place  in 
the  diligence  for  me  to-morrow  ?  " 

The  abbé  stayed  behind  for  half  an  hour  to  sing  the 
praises  of  his  friend,  who  meant  to  win  and  had  suc- 
ceeded in  winning  the  good  graces  of  the  old  lad}'. 

"He  is  an  astonishing  man  for  his  age,"  she  said. 
"  He  talks  of  going  to  Paris  and  attending  to  my  son's 
affairs  as  if  he  were  only  twenty-five.  He  has  certainly 
seen  good  societj'." 

"  The  very  best,  madame  ;  and  to-day  more  than  one 
son  of  a  peer  of  France  would  be  glad  to  marry  his 


176  Ursula. 

goddaugbter  with  a  million.  Ab  !  if  that  idea  should 
come  into  Savinien's  bead  !  —  times  are  so  changed 
that  the  objections  would  not  come  from  j'our  side, 
especially  after  bis  late  conduct  —  " 

The  amazement  into  which  the  speech  threw  the  old 
lad^'  alone  enabled  him  to  finish  it, 

"  You  have  lost  your  senses,"  she  said  at  last. 

"  Think  it  over,  madame;  God  grant  that  3-our  son 
may  conduct  himself  in  future  in  a  manner  to  win  that 
old  man's  respect." 

"  If  it  were  not  you,  Monsieur  1'  abbé,"  said  Madame 
de  Portenduère,  "if  it  were  an}'  one  else  who  spoke  to 
me  in  that  wa}-  —  " 

"  You  would  not  see  him  again,"  said  the  abbé,  smil- 
ing. "  Let  us  hope  that  your  dear  son  will  enlighten 
you  as  to  what  occurs  in  Paris  in  these  da3-s  as  to  mar- 
riages. You  will  think  only  of  Savinien's  good  ;  and 
as  3'ou  really  have  helped  to  compromise  his  future  you 
will  not  stand  in  the  wa}^  of  his  making  himself  another 
position." 

"  And  it  is  3-ou  who  say  that  to  me?  " 

"  If  I  did  not  sa}-  it  to  j-ou,  who  would?"  cried  the 
abbé  rising  and  making  a  hast}'  retreat. 

As  he  left  the  house  be  saw  Ursula  and  her  godfather 
standing  in  their  courtyard.  The  weak  doctor  had 
been  so  entreated  by  Ursula  that  he  had  just  yielded  to 
her.     She  wanted  to  go  with  him  to  Paris,  and  gave  a 


Ursula.  Vil 

thousand  reasons.  He  called  to  the  abbé  and  begged 
him  to  engage  the  whole  coupé  for  him  that  very  even- 
ing if  the  booking-office  were  still  open. 

The  next  day  at  half-past  six  o'clock  the  old  man 
and  the  3'oung  girl  reached  Paris,  and  the  doctor  went 
at  once  to  consult  his  notary-.  Political  events  were 
then  very  threatening.  Monsieur  Bongraud  had  re- 
marked in  the  course  of  the  preceding  evening  that 
a  man  must  be  a  fool  to  keep  a  penn^'  in  the  public 
funds  so  long  as  the  quarrel  between  the  press  and  the 
court  was  not  made  up.  Minoret's  notary  now  indi- 
recth"  approved  of  this  opinion.  The  doctor  therefore 
took  advantage  of  his  journe}-  to  sell  out  his  manufact- 
uring stocks  and  his  shares  in  the  Funds,  all  of  which 
were  then  at  a  high  value,  depositing  the  proceeds  in 
the  Bank  of  France.  The  notar}-  also  advised  his 
client  to  sell  the  stocks  left  to  Ursula  b^'  Monsieur  de 
Jord}'.  He  promised  to  employ  an  extremeh-  clever 
and  wil}'  broker  to  treat  with  Savinien's  ci'editors  ;  but 
said  that  in  order  to  succeed  it  would  be  necessary  for 
the  30ung  man  to  stay  several  da3S  longer  in  prison. 

"  Haste  in  such  matters  always  means  the  loss  of  at 
least  fifteen  per  cent,"  said  the  notary.  "  Besides, 
you  can't  get  ^-our  money  under  seven  or  eight  days." 

When  Ursula  heard  that  Savinien  would  have  to  stay 
at  least  a  week  longer  in  jail  she  begged  her  godfather 
to  let  her  go  there,  if  only  once.     Old  Minoret  refused. 

12 


178  Ursula. 

The  uncle  and  niece  were  staying  in  a  hotel  in  the  Rue 
Croix  des  Petits-Champs  where  the  doctor  had  taken  a 
ver^' suitable  apartment.  Knowing  the  scrupulous  honor 
and  propriet}'  of  his  goddaughter  he  made  her  promise 
not  to  go  out  while  he  was  away  ;  at  other  times  he 
tooli  her  to  see  the  arcades,  the  shops,  the  boulevards  ; 
but  nothing  seemed  to  amuse  or  interest  her. 

"  What  do  30U  want  to  do?  "  asked  the  old  man. 

"  See  Sainte-Pélagie,"  she  answered  obstinately. 

Minoret  called  a  hackne^'-coach  and  took  her  to  the 
Rue  de  la  Clef,  where  the  carriage  drew  up  before  the 
shabby  front  of  the  old  convent  then  transformed  into 
a  prison.  The  sight  of  those  high  gra}'  walls,  with 
everj^  window  barred,  of  the  wicket  through  which  none 
can  enter  without  stooping  (horrible  lesson!),  of  the 
whole  gloom}'  structure  in  a  quarter  full  of  wretched- 
ness, where  it  rises  amid  squalid  streets  like  a  supreme 
miserj',  —  this  assemblage  of  dismal  things  so  oppressed 
Ursula's  heart  that  she  burst  into  tears. 

"Oh!  "  she  said,  "to  imprison  young  men  in  this 
dreadful  place  for  money  !  How  can  a  debt  to  a 
mone3'-lender  have  a  power  the  king  has  not?  He 
there!"  she  cried.  "Where,  godfather?"  she  added, 
looking  from  window  to  window. 

"  Ursula,"  said  the  old  man,  "you  arc  making  me 
commit  great  follies.  This  is  not  foi'getting  him  as 
you   promised." 


Ursula.  *  179 

*'  But,"  she  argued,  "  if  I  must  renounce  him  must  I 
also  cease  to  feel  an  interest  in  him  ?  I  can  love  him 
and  not  marr}'  at  all." 

"  Ah!  "  cried  tlie  doctor,  "there  is  so  much  reason 
in  3-our  unreasonableness  that  I  am  sorr}'  I  brought 
you." 

Three  days  later  the  worthy  man  had  all  the  receipts 
signed,  and  the  legal  papers  read}'  for  Savinien's  release. 
The  pa3'ments,  including  the  notaries'  fees,  amounted  to 
eight}'  thousand  francs.  The  doctor  went  himself  to 
see  Savinien  released  on  Saturday  at  two  o'clock. 
The  young  viscount,  already  informed  of  what  had  hap- 
pened by  his  mother,  thanked  his  liberator  with  sincere 
warmth  of  heart. 

"  You  must  return  at  once  to  see  your  mother,"  the 
old  doctor  said  to  him. 

Savinien  answered  in  a  sort  of  confusion  that  he  had 
contracted  certain  debts  of  honor  while  in  prison,  and 
related  the  visit  of  his  friends. 

"  I  suspected  there  was  some  personal  debt,"  cried 
the  doctor,  smiling.  "  Your  mother  borrowed  a  hun- 
dred thousand  francs  of  me,  but  I  have  paid  out  only 
eighty  thousand.  Here  is  the  rest  ;  be  careful  how  you 
spend  it,  monsieur  ;  consider  what  you  have  left  of  it  as 
your  stake  on  the  green  cloth  of  fortune." 

During  the  last  eight  days  Savinien  had  made  many 
reflections  on  the  present  conditions  of  life.     Competi- 


180  Urmia. 

tion  in  everything  necessitated  hard  work  on  the  part  of 
whoever  sought  a  fortune.  Illegal  methods  and  under- 
hand dealing  demanded  more  talent  than  open  efforts  in 
face  of  ùixy.  Success  in  society,  far  from  giving  a  man 
position,  w^asted  his  time  and  required  an  immense 
deal  of  mone}-.  The  name  of  Portenduère,  which  his 
mother  considered  all-powerful,  had  no  power  at  all  in 
Paris.  His  cousin  the  deput\',  Comte  de  Portenduère, 
cut  a  very  poor  figure  in  the  Elective  Chamber  in  pres- 
ence of  the  peerage  and  the  court  ;  and  had  none  too 
much  credit  personally.  Admiral  Keigarouët  existed 
on!}-  as  the  husband  of  his  wife.  Savinien  admitted  to 
himself  that  he  had  seen  orators,  men  from  the  middle 
classes,  or  lesser  noblemen,  become  influential  person- 
ages. Monc}'  was  the  pivot,  the  sole  means,  the  onlj- 
mechanism  of  a  societ}'  which  Louis  XVIII.  had  tried 
to  create  in  the  likeness  of  that  of  England. 

On  his  wa}'  from  the  Rue  de  la  Clef  to  the  Rue  Croix 
des  Petits-Champs  the  young  gentleman  divulged  the 
upshot  of  these  meditations  (which  were  certainly-  in 
keeping  with  de  Marsay's  advice)  to  the  old  doctor. 

"  I  ought,"  lie  said,  "  to  go  into  oblivion  for  three  or 
four  years  and  seek  a  career.  Pcrhai)s  I  could  make 
myself  a  name  by  writing  a  book  on  statesmanship  or 
morals,  or  a  treatise  on  some  of  the  great  questions  of 
the  day.  While  I  am  looking  out  for  a  marriage 
with  some  young  lady  who  could  make  me  eligible  to 


Ursula'.  181 

the  Chamber,  I  will  work  hard  in  silence  and  in 
obscurit}'." 

Studying  the  j'oung  fellow's  face  with  a  keen  eye,  the 
doctor  saw  the  serious  purpose  of  a  wounded  man  who 
was  anxious  to  vindicate  himself.  He  therefore  cor- 
diallj'  approved   of  the  scheme. 

"  M}'  friend,"  he  said,  "  if  3'ou  strip  off  the  skin  of 
the  old  nobilit}'  (which  is  no  longer  worn  in  these  days) 
I  will  undertake,  after  you  have  lived  for  three  or  four 
j^ears  in  a  steady  and  industrious  manner,  to  find  you  a 
superior  young  girl,  beautiful,  amiable,  pious,  and  pos- 
sessing from  seven  to  eight  hundred  thousand  francs, 
who  will  make  you  happy  and  of  whom  you  will  have 
every  reason  to  be  proud,  —  one  whose  onl}-  nobility  is 
that  of  the  heart." 

"  Ah,  doctor!  "  cried  the  \'oung  man,  "  there  is  no 
longer  a  nobilit}'  in  these  days,  —  nothing  but  an 
aristocracy." 

"  Go  and  pay  ^-our  debts  of  honor  and  come  back 
here.  I  shall  engage  the  coupé  of  the  diligence,  for 
n\v  niece  is  with  me,"'  said  the  old  man. 

That  evening,  at  six  o'clock,  the  three  travellers 
started  from  the  Rue  Dauphine.  Ursula  had  put  on  a 
veil  and  did  not  sa}'  a  word.  Savinien,  who  once,  in  a 
moment  of  superficial  gallantr}',  had  sent  her  that  kiss 
which  invaded  and  conquered  her  soul  like  a  love-poem, 
had  completely  forgotten  the  young  girl  in  the  hell  of 


182  Ursula. 

his  Parisian  debts  ;  moreover  his  hopeless  love  for 
Emilie  de  Kergarouet  hindered  him  from  bestowing  a 
thought  on  a  few  glances  exchanged  with  a  little  coun- 
try girl.  He  did  not  recognize  her  when  the  doctor 
handed  her  into  the  coach  and  then  sat  down  beside 
her  to  separate  her  from  the  3'oung  viscount. 

"  I  have  some  bills  to  give  3'ou,"  said  the  doctor  to 
the  3'oung  man.  "  I  have  brought  all  your  papers  and 
documents." 

"  I  came  very  near  not  getting  off,"  said  Savinien, 
"  for  I  had  to  order  linen  and  clothes  ;  the  Philistines 
took  all  ;  I  return  like  a  true  prodigal." 

However  interesting  were  the  subjects  of  conversa- 
tion between  the  young  man  and  the  old  one,  and  how- 
ever witty  and  clever  were  certain  remarks  of  the 
viscount,  the  young  girl  continued  silent  till  after  dusk, 
her  green  veil  lowered,  and  her  hands  crossed  on  her 
shawl. 

'*  Mademoiselle  does  not  seem  to  have  enjoyed  Paris 
very  much,"  said  Savinien  at  last,  somewhat  piqued. 

"  I  am  glad  to  return  to  Nemours,"  she  answered  in 
a  trembling  voice  raising  her  veil. 

Notwithstanding  the  dim  light  Savinien  then  recog- 
nized her  by  the  heav}'  braids  of  her  hair  and  the  bril- 
liancy of  her  blue  e^-es. 

"  I,  too,  leave  Paris  to  bury  m3'self  in  Nemours 
without  regret  now  that  I  meet  mv  charmino-  neighbor 


Ursula.  183 

• 

again/'  he  said;  "I  hope,  Monsieur  le  docteur  that 

you  will  receive  me  in  jour  house  ;  I  love  music,  and  I 
remember  to  have  listened  to  Mademoiselle  Ursula's 
piano." 

"I  do  not  know,"  replied  the  doctor  gravel}', 
"  whether  your  mother  would  approve  of  your  visits  to 
an  old  man  whose  duty  it  is  to  care  for  this  dear  child 
with  all  the  solicitude  of  a  mother." 

This  reserved  answer  made  Savinien  reflect,  and  he 
then  remembered  the  kisses  so  thoughtlessly  wafted. 
Night  came  ;  the  heat  was  great.  Savinien  and  the 
doctor  went  to  sleep  first.  Ursula,  whose  head  was 
full  of  projects,  did  not  succumb  till  midnight.  She  had 
taken  off  her  straw-bonnet,  and  her  head,  covered  with 
a  little  embroidered  cap,  dropped  upon  her  uncle's 
shoulder.  When  they  reached  Bouron  at  dawn,  Savi- 
nien awoke.  He  then  saw  Ursula  in  the  slight  disarray 
naturally  caused  b}'  the  jolting  of  the  vehicle  ;  her  cap 
was  rumpled  and  half  off;  the  hair,  unbound,  had  fallen 
each  side  of  her  face,  which  glowed  from  the  heat  of  the 
night  ;  in  this  situation,  dreadful  for  women  to  whom 
dress  is  a  necessary  auxiliary,  j-outh  and  beauty  tri- 
umphed. The  sleep  of  innocence  is  always  lovely.  The 
half-opened  lips  showed  the  pretty  teeth  ;  the  shawl,  un- 
fastened, gave  to  view,  beneath  the  folds  of  her  muslin 
gown  and  without  offence  to  her  mqdest}',  the  graceful- 
ness of  her  figure.    The  purity  of  the  virgin  spirit  shone 


184  Ursula. 

on  the  sleeping  countenance  all  the  more  plainly  because 
no  other  expression  was  there  to  interfere  with  it.  Old 
Minoret,  who  presently  woke  up,  placed  his  child's 
head  in  the  corner  of  the  carriage  that  she  might  be 
more  at  ease  ;  and  she  let  him  do  it  unconsciously,  so 
deep  was  her  sleep  after  the  many  wakeful  nights  she 
had  spent  in  thinking  of  Savinien's  trouble. 

"Poor  little  girl!  "  said  the  doctor  to  his  neighbor, 
"she  sleeps  like  the  child  she  is." 

"  You  must  be  proud  of  her,"  replied  Savinien  ;  "  for 
she  seems  as  good  as  she  is  beautiful." 

"  Ah  !  she  is  the  jo}'  of  the  house.  I  could  not  love 
her  better  if  she  were  mj-  own  daughter.  She  will  be 
sixteen  on  the  5th  of  next  February.  God  grant  that 
I  may  live  long  enough  to  marr}-  her  to  a  man  who  will 
make  her  happy.  I  wanted  to  take  her  to  the  theatre  in 
Paris,  where  she  was  for  the  first  time,  but  she  refused  ; 
the  Abbé  Chaperon  had  forbidden  it.  'But,'  I  said, 
'  when  you  are  married  ^our  husband  will  want  you  to 
go  there.'  'I  shall  do  what  m}'  husband  wants,'  she 
answered.  '  If  he  asks  me  to  do  evil  and  I  am  weak 
enough  to  yield,  he  will  be  responsible  before  God  — 
and  so  I  shall  have  strength  to  refuse  him,  for  his  own 
sake.'  " 

As  the  coach  entered  Nemours,  at  five  in  the  morn- 
ing, Ursula  woke  up,  ashamed  at  her  I'umpled  condi- 
tion, and  confused  by  the  look  of  admiration  wliich  she 


•    Urmia.  185 

encountered  from  Savinien.  During  the  hour  it  liad 
taken  the  diligence  to  come  from  Bouron  to  Nemours 
the  young  man  had  fallen  in  love  with  Ursula  ;  he  had 
studied  the  pure  candor  of  that  soul,  the  beauty  of  that 
bod}',  the  whiteness  of  the  skin,  the  delicac}'  of  the 
features  ;  he  recalled  the  charm  of  the  voice  which  had 
uttered  but  one  expressive  sentence,  in  which  the  poor 
child  said  all,  intending  to  say  nothing.  A  presenti- 
ment seemed  suddenly  to  take  hold  of  him  ;  he  saw  in 
Ursula  the  woman  the  doctor  had  pictured  to  him, 
framed  in  gold  b}-  the  magic  words,  "  Seven  or  eight 
hundred  thousand  francs." 

"  In  three  or  four  3'ears  she  will  be  twent}',  and  I 
shall  be  twenty-seven,"  he  thought.  "  The  good  doctor 
talked  of  probation,  work,  good  conduct  !  Sly  as  he 
is  I  shall  make  him  tell  me  the  truth." 

The  three  neighbors  parted  in  the  street  in  front  of 
their  respective  homes,  and  Savinien  put  a  little  court- 
ing into  his  eyes  as  he  gave  Ursula  a  parting  glance. 

Madame  de  Portenduère  let  her  son  sleep  till  mid- 
day ;  but  the  doctor  and  Ursula,  in  spite  of  their 
fatiguing  journe}',  went  to  high  mass.  Savinien's 
release  and  his  return  in  compan}'  witli  the  doctor  had 
explained  tlie  reason  of  the  latter's  absence  to  the  news- 
mongers of  the  town  and  to  the  heirs,  who  were  once 
more  assembled  in  conventicle  on  the  square,  just  as 
they  were  two  weeks  earlier  when  the  doctor  attended 


186  Ursula. 

his  first  mass.  To  the  great  astonishment  of  all  the 
groups,  Madame  de  Portenduère,  on  leaving  the  church, 
stopped  old  Minoret,  who  offered  her  his  arm  and  took 
her  home.  .The  old  ladj'  asked  him  to  dinner  that 
evening,  also  asking  his  niece  and  assuring  him  that 
the  abbé  would  be  the  onlj'^  other  guest. 

"  He  must  have  wished  Ursula  to  see  Paris,"  said 
Minore  t-Levrault. 

"Pest!"  cried  Crémière;  "he  can't  take  a  step 
without  that  girl  !  " 

"  Something  must  have  happened  to  make  old  Por- 
tenduère accept  his  arm,"  said  Massin. 

"  So  none  of  50U  have  guessed  that  your  uncle  has 
sold  his  Funds  and  released  that  little  Savinien  ?  "  cried 
Goupil.  "He  refused  Dionis,  but  he  didn't  refuse 
Madame  de  Portenduère  —  Ha,  ha  !  3'ou  are  all  done 
for.  The  viscount  will  propose  a  marriage-contract 
instead  of  a  mortgage,  and  the  doctor  will  make  the 
husband  settle  on  his  jewel  of  a  girl  the  sum  he  has 
now  paid  to  secure  the   alliance." 

"It  is  not  a  bad  thing  to  marr}'  Ursula  to  Savinien," 
said  the  butcher.  "  The  old  lady  gives  a  dinner  to-day 
to  Monsieur  Minoret.  Tiennette  came  earlj'  for  a 
filet." 

"Well,  Dionis,  here 's  a  fine  to-do!"  said  Massin, 
rushing  up  to  the  notary,  who  was  entering  the  square. 

"What   is?      It's    all   going   right,"    returned    the 


Ursula.  187 

notary.  "  Your  uncle  has  sold  his  Funds  and  Madame 
de  Portenduère  has  sent  for  me  to  witness  the  signing 
of  a  mortgage  on  her  property  for  one  hundred  thou- 
sand francs,  lent  to  her  by  your  uncle." 

"Yes,  but  suppose  the  3'oung  people  should  marr}'?  " 

"That's  as  if  you  said  Goupil  was  to  be  my  suc- 
cessor." 

"  The  two  things  are  not  so  impossible,"  said  Goupil. 

On  returning  from  mass  Madame  de  Portenduère 
told  Tiennette  to  inform  her  son  that  she  wished  to  see 
him. 

The  little  house  had  three  bedrooms  on  the  first  floor. 
That  of  Madame  de  Portenduère  and  that  of  her  late 
husband  were  separated  by  a  large  dressing-room  lighted 
by  a  skylight,  and  connected  by  a  little  antechamber 
which  opened  on  the  staircase.  The  window  of  the 
other  room,  occupied  b}-  Savinien,  looked,  like  that  of 
his  late  father,  on  the  street.  The  staircase  went  up  at 
the  back  of  the  house,  leaving  room  for  a  little  study 
lighted  bj'  a  small  round  window  opening  on  the  court. 
Madame  de  Portenduère's  bedroom,  the  gloomiest  in  the 
house,  also  looked  into  the  court  ;  but  the  widow  spent 
all  her  time  in  the  salon  on  the  ground-floor,  which  com- 
municated b}'  a  passage  with  the  kitchen  built  at  the 
end  of  the  court,  so  that  this  salon  was  made  to  answer 
the  double  purpose  of  drawing-room  and  dining-room 
combined. 


188  Ursula. 

The  bedroom  of  the  late  Monsieur  de  Portenduère 
remained  as  he  had  left  it  on  the  day  of  his  death  ; 
there  was  no  change  except  that  he  was  absent. 
Madame  de  Portenduère  had  made  the  bed  herself; 
laj-ing  upon  it  the  uniform  of  a  naval  captain,  his 
sword,  cordon,  orders,  and  hat.  The  gold  snufF-box 
from  which  her  late  husband  had  taken  snuff  for  the 
last  time  was  on  the  table,  with  his  pra3'er-book,  his 
watch,  and  the  cup  from  which  he  drank.  His  white 
hair,  arranged  in  one  curled  lock  and  framed,  hung 
above  a  crucifix  and  the  hoi}'  water  in  the  alcove.  AH 
the  little  ornaments  he  had  worn,  his  journals,  his  furni- 
ture, his  Dutch  spittoon,  his  spj'-glass  hanging  by  the 
mantel,  were  all  there.  The  widow  had  stopped  the 
hands  of  the  clock  at  the  hour  of  his  death,  to  which 
they  always  pointed.  The  room  still  smelt  of  the  pow- 
der and  the  tobacco  of  the  deceased.  The  hearth  was  as 
he  left  it.  To  her,  entering  there,  he  was  again  visible 
in  the  many  articles  which  told  of  his  daily  habits.  His 
tall  cane  with  its  gold  head  was  where  he  had  last 
placed  it,  with  his  buckskin  gloves  close  by.  On  a 
table  against  the  wall  stood  a  gold  vase,  of  coarse  work- 
manship but  worth  three  thousand  francs,  a  gift  from 
Havana,  which  city,  at  the  time  of  the  American  War 
of  Independence,  he  had  protected  from  an  attack  by 
the  British,  bringing  his  convoy  safe  into  port  after  an 
engagement  with  superior  forces.     To  recompense  this 


Ursula.  189 

service  the  King  of  Spain  had  made  him  a  kniglit  of 
his  order  ;  the  same  event  gave  him  a  riglit  to  the  next 
promotion  to  the  rank  of  vice-admiral,  and  he  also 
received  the  red  ribbon.  He  then  married  his  wife,  Avho 
had  a  fortune  of  about  two  hundred  thousand  francs. 
But  the  Revolution  hindered  his  promotion,  and  Mon- 
sieur de  Portenduère  emigrated. 

"  Where  is  my  mother?  "  said  Savinien  to  Tiennette. 

"  She  is  waiting  for  you  in  your  father's  room,"  said 
the  old  Breton  woman. 

Savinien  could  not  repress  a  shudder.  He  knew  his 
mother's  rigid  principles,  her  worship  of  honor,  her 
loyalt}',  her  faith  in  nobility,  and  he  foresaw  a  scene. 
He  went  up  to  the  assault  with  his  heart  beating  and 
his  face  rather  pale.  In  the  dim  light  which  filtered 
through  the  blinds  he  saw  his  mother  dressed  in  black, 
and  with  an  air  of  solemnity  in  keeping  with  that 
funereal  room. 

"  Monsieur  le  vicomte,"  she  said  when  she  saw  him, 
rising  and  taking  his  hand  to  lead  him  to  his  father's 
bed,  '•'  there  died  your  father,  —  a  man  of  honor  ;  he  died 
without  reproach  from  his  own  conscience.  His  spirit 
is  there.  Surel}'  he  groaned  in  heaven  when  he  saw 
his  son  degraded  hy  imprisonment  for  debt.  Under 
the  old  monarchy  that  stain  could  have  been  spared  you 
by  obtaining  a  lettre  de  cachet  and  shutting  you  up  for 
a  few  daj's  in  a  military  prison.  —  But  you  are  here  ; 


190  Ursula. 

you.  stand  before  yonr  father,  who  hears  j'ou.  You 
know  all  that  you  did  before  3011  were  sent  to  that 
ignoble  prison.  Will  you  swear  to  me  before  3-our 
father's  shade,  and  in  presence  of  God  who  sees  all, 
that  3'ou  have  done  no  dishonorable  act  ;  that  your 
debts  are  the  result  of  youthful  foil}-,  and  that  3'our 
honor  is  untarnished?  If  3'our  blameless  father  were 
there,  sitting  in  that  armchair,  and  asking  an  explana- 
tion of  your  conduct,  could  he  embrace  you  after  having 
beard  it?" 

"  Yes,  mother,''  replied  the  young  man,  with  grave 
respect. 

She  opened  her  arms  and  pressed  him  to  her  heart, 
shedding  a  few  tears. 

"  Let  us  forget  it  all,  mj'  son,"  she  said  ;  "  it  is  only 
a  little  less  mone}'.  I  shall  pray  God  to  let  us  recover 
it.  As  you  are  indeed  worthy  of  your  name,  kiss  me  — . 
for  I  have  suffered  much." 

"  I  swear,  mother,"  he  said,  laying  his  hand  upon 
the  bed,  "  to  give  3'ou  no  further  unhappiness  of  that 
kind,  and  to  do  all  I  can  to  repair  tliese  first  faults." 

"  Come  and  breakfast,  my  child,"  she  said,  turning 
to  leave  the  room. 


Ursula.  191 


XII. 

OBSTACLES   TO   YOUNG   LOVE. 

In  1829  the  old  noblesse  had  recovered  as  to  manners 
and  customs  somethnig  of  the  prestige  it  had  irrevocably 
lost  in  politics.  Moreover,  the  sentiment  which  governs 
parents  and  grandparents  in  all  that  relates  to  matri- 
monial conventions  is  an  imperishable  sentiment,  closely 
allied  to  the  very  existence  of  civilized  societies  and 
springing  from  the  spirit  of  family.  It  rules  in  Geneva 
as  in  Vienna  and  in  Nemours,  where,  as  we  have  seen, 
Zelie  Minoret  refused  her  consent  to  a  possible  marriage 
of  her  son  with  the  daughter  of  a  bastard.  Still,  all 
social  laws  have  their  exceptions.  Savinien  thought  he 
might  bend  his  mother's  pride  before  the  inborn  nobility 
of  Ursula.  The  struggle  began  at  once.  As  soon  as 
they  were  seated  at  table  his  mother  told  him  of  the 
horrible  letters,  as  she  called  them,  which  the  Kerga- 
rouets  and  the  Portendueres  had  written  her. 

"  There  is  no  such  thing  as  famil}'  in  these  days, 
mother,"  replied  Savinien,  "nothing  but  individuals! 
The  nobles  are  no  longer  a  compact  body.  No  one 
asks  or  cares  whether  I  am  a  Portenduere,  or  brave,  or 
a  statesman  ;  all  the}'  ask  now-a-daj's  is,  'What  taxes 
does  he  pay  ?  '  " 


192  Ursula. 

"  But  the  king  ?"  asked  the  okl  lady. 

"  The  kuig  is  caught  between  the  two  Chambers  like 
a  man  between  his  wife  and  his  mistress.  So  I  shall 
have  to  marry  some  rich  girl  without  regard  to  famil}', 
—  the  daughter  of  a  peasant  if  she  has  a  million  and  is 
sufRcientlj-  well  brought-up  —  that  is  to  sa}',  if  she  has 
been  taught  in  school." 

"Oh  !  there 's  no  need  to  talk  of  that,"  said  the  old 
lady. 

Savinien  frowned  as  he  heard  the  words.  He  knew 
the  granite  will,  called  Breton  obstinac}',  that  distin- 
guished his  mother,  and  he  resolved  to  know  at  once 
her  opinion  on  this  delicate  matter. 

"  So,"  he  went  on,  "  if  I  loved  a  3oung  girl,  —  take 
for  instance  your  neighbor's  godchild,  little  Ursula,  — 
would  you  oppose  my  marriage  ?  " 

"  Yes,  as  long  as  I  live,"  she  replied  ;  "  and  after  my 
death  you  would  be  responsible  for  the  honor  and  the 
blood  of  the  Kergarouets  and  the  Portendueres." 

"  Would  you  let  me  die  of  hunger  and  despair  for  the 
chimera  of  nobilit}',  which  has  no  reality  to-da}'  unless 
it  has  the  lustre  of  great  wealth  ?  " 

"  You  could  serve  Fi-ance  and  put  faith  in  God." 

"  Would  30U  postpone  my  happiness  till  after  30ur 
death?" 

"  It  would  be  horrible  if  you  took  it  then,  —  that  is 
all  I  have  to  say." 


Ursula.  193 

"  Louis  XIV.  came  very  near  marrying  the  niece  of 
Mazarin,  a  parvenu." 

"  Mazarin  himself  opposed  it." 

"  Remember  the  widow  Scarron." 

"  She  was  a  d'Aubigne.  Besides,  the  marriage  was 
in  secret.  But  I  am  very  old,  my  son,"  she  said, 
shaking  her  head.  "  When  I  am  no  more  you  can,  as 
you  sa}',  marrj-  whom  you  please." 

Savinien  both  loved  and  respected  his  mother  ;  but 
he  instantly,  though  silently,  set  himself  in  opposition 
to  her  with  an  obstinacy  equal  to  her  own,  resolving  to 
have  no  other  wife  than  Ursula,  to  whom  this  opposition 
gave,  as  often  happens  in  similar  circumstances,  the 
value  of  a  forbidden  thing. 

When,  after  vespers,  the  doctor,  with  Ursula,  who 
was  dressed  in  pink  and  white,  entered  the  cold,  stiff 
salon,  the  girl  was  seized  with  nervous  trembling,  as 
though  she  had  entered  the  presence  of  the  queen  of 
France  and  had  a  favor  to  beg  of  her.  Since  her  con- 
fession to  the  doctor  this  little  house  had  assumed  the 
proportions  of  a  palace  in  her  eyes,  and  the  old  ladj' 
herself  the  social  value  which  a  duchess  of  the  Middle 
Ages  might  have  had  to  the  daughter  of  a  serf.  Never 
had  Ursula  measured  as  she  did  at  that  moment  the 
distance  which  separated  the  Vicomte  de  Portenduère 
from  the  daughter  of  a  regimental  musician,  a  former 
opera-singer  and  the  natural  son  of  an  organist. 

13 


194  Ursula. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  m}^  dear?"  said  the  old  lad}', 
making  the  girl  sit  down  by  her. 

"Madame,  1  am  confused  by  the  honor  you  have 
done  me  —  " 

"  M}'  little  girl,"  said  Madame  de  Portenduère,  in 
her  sharpest  tone.  "  I  know  how  fond  50ur  uncle  is 
of  3'ou,  and  I  wished  to  be  agreeable  to  him,  for  he  has 
brought  back  m}^  prodigal  son." 

"  But,  my  dear  mother."  said  Savinien,  cut  to  the 
heart  by  seeing  the  color  fly  into  Ursula's  face  as  she 
struggled  to  keep  back  her  tears,  "  even  if  we  were 
under  no  obligations  to  Monsieur  le  Chevalier  Minoret, 
I  think  we  should  always  be  most  grateful  for  the 
pleasure  Mademoiselle  has  given  us  b}'  accepting  your 
invitation." 

The  3'oung  man  pressed  the  doctor's  hand  in  a  sig- 
nificant manner,  adding:  "I  see  30U  wear,  monsieur, 
the  order  of  Saint-Michel,  the  oldest  order  in  France, 
and  one  which  confers  nobilit}'." 

Ursula's  extreme  beauty,  to  which  her  almost  hope- 
less love  gave  a  depth  which  great  painters  have  some- 
times conveyed  in  pictures  where  the  soul  is  brought 
into  strong  relief,  had  struck  Madame  de  Portenduère 
suddenly',  and  made  her  suspect  that  the  doctor's  appar- 
ent generosity  masked  an  ambitious  scheme.  She  had 
made  the  speech  to  which  Savinien  replied  with  the  in- 
tention of  wounding  the  doctor  in  that  which  was  dearest 


Ursula.  195 

to  him  ;  and  she  succeeded,  though  the  old  man  could 
hardly  restrain  a  smile  as  he  heard  himself  styled  a 
"  chevalier,"  amused  to  observe  how  the  eagerness  of 
a  lover  did  not  shrink  from  absurdit^^ 

"  The  order  of  Saint-Michel  which  in  former  days 
men  committed  follies  to  obtain,"  he  said,  "  has  now, 
Monsieur  le  vicomte,  gone  the  wa}-  of  other  privileges  ! 
It  is  given  onl}'  to  doctors  and  poor  artists.  The  kings 
have  done  well  to  join  it  to  that  of  Saint-Lazare  who 
was,  I  believe,  a  poor  devil  recalled  to  life  by  a  miracle. 
From  this  point  of  view  the  order  of  Saint-Michel  and 
Saint-Lazare  may  be,  for  man}-  of  us,  s3-rabolic." 

After  this  reply,  at  once  sarcastic  and  dignified, 
silence  reigned,  which,  as  no  one  seemed  inclined  to 
break  it,  was  becoming  awkward,  when  there  was  a  rap 
at  the  door. 

"  There  is  our  dear  abbé,"  said  the  old  lady,  who 
rose,  leaving  Ursula  alone,  and  advancing  to  meet  the 
Abbé  Chaperon,  —  an  honor  she  had  not  paid  to  the 
doctor  and  his  niece. 

The  old  man  smiled  to  himself  as  he  looked  from  his 
goddaughter  to  Savinien.  To  show  offence  or  to  com- 
plain of  Madame  de  Portenduère's  manners  was  a  rock 
on  which  a  man  of  small  mind  might  have  struck,  but 
Minoret  was  too  accomplished  in  the  ways  of  the  world 
not  to  avoid  it.  He  began  to  talk  to  the  viscount  of 
the  danger  Charles  X.  was  then  running  bv  confidinsc 


196  Ursula. 

the  affairs  of  the  nation  to  the  Prince  de  Polignac. 
When  sufficient  time  had  been  spent  on  the  subject  to 
avoid  all  appearance  of  revenging  himself  by  so  doing, 
he  handed  the  old  lady,  in  an  easy,  jesting  waj',  a  packet 
of  legal  papers  and  receipted  bills,  together  with  the 
account  of  his  notary. 

"  Has  mj-  son  verified  them  ?  "  she  said,  giving  Savi- 
nien  a  look,  to  which  he  replied  by  bending  his  head. 
"Well,  then  the  rest  is  my  notary's  business,"  she 
added,  pushing  awaj'  the  papers  and  treating  the  affair 
with  the  disdain  she  wished  to  show  for  money. 

To  abase  wealth  was,  according  to  Madame  de  Por- 
tenduere's  ideas,  to  elevate  the  nobility  and  rob  the 
bourgeoisie  of  their  importance. 

A  few  moments  later  Goupil  came  from  his  employer, 
Dionis,  to  ask  for  the  accounts  of  the  transaction  be- 
tween the  doctor  and  Savinien. 

"  Why  do  you  want  them  ?  "  said  the  old  lady. 

"  To  put  the  matter  in  legal  form  ;  there  have  been 
no  cash  payments." 

Ursula  and  Savinien,  who  both  for  the  first  time  ex- 
changed a  glance  with  this  offensive  personage,  were 
conscious  of  a  sensation  like  that  of  touching  a  toad, 
aggravated  by  a  dark  presentiment  of  evil.  They  both 
had  the  same  indefinable  and  confused  vision  into  the 
future,  which  has  no  name  in  an}'  language,  but  which 
is  capable  of  explanation  as  the  action  of  the  inward 


Ursula.  197 

being  of  which  the  mysterious  Swedenborgian  had 
spoken  to  Doctor  Minoret.  The  certainty  that  the 
venomous  Goupil  would  in  some  way  be  fatal  to  them 
made  Ursula  tremble  ;  but  she  controlled  herself,  con- 
scious of  unspeakable  pleasure  in  seeing  that  Savinien 
shared  her  emotion. 

"  He  is  not  handsome,  that  clerk  of  Monsieur  Dionis," 
said  Savinien,  when  Goupil  had  closed  the  door. 

"  What  does  it  signify  whether  such  persons  are 
handsome  or  ugly  ?  "  said  Madame  de  Portenduère. 

"  I  don't  complain  of  his  ugliness,"  said  the  abbé, 
"but  I  do  of  his  wickedness,  which  passes  all  bounds  ; 
he  is  a  villain." 

The  doctor,  in  spite  of  his  desire  to  be  amiable,  grew 
cold  and  dignified.  The  lovers  were  embarrassed.  If 
it  had  not  been  for  the  kindly  good-humor  of  the  abbé, 
whose  gentle  gayet^'  enlivened  the  dinner,  the  position 
of  the  doctor  and  his  niece  would  have  been  almost 
intolerable  At  dessert,  seeing  Ursula  turn  pale,  he 
said   to   her  :  — 

"  If  you  don't  feel  well,  dear  child,  we  have  only  the 
street  to  cross." 

"What  Is  the  matter,  my  dear?"  said  tlie  old  lady 
to  the  girl. 

"Madame,"  said  the  doctor  severely,  "her  soul  is 
chilled,  accustomed  as  she  is  to  be  met  b}'  smiles." 

"  A  ver^'  bad  education,  monsieur,"  said  Madame  de 
Portenduère.     "  Is  is  not.  Monsieur  l'abbé?" 


198  Ursula. 

"Yes,"  answered  Minoret,  with  a  look  at  the  abbé, 
who  knew  not  how  to  reply.  '•  I  have,  it  is  true,  ren- 
dered life  unbearable  to  an  angelic  spirit  if  she  has  to 
pass  it  in  the  world  ;  but  I  trust  I  shall  not  die  until  I 
place  her  in  securit}',  safe  from  coldness,  indifference, 
and  hatred  —  " 

"Oh,  godfather  —  I  beg  of  you  —  sa}'  no  more. 
There  is  nothing  the  matter  with  me,"  cried  Ursula, 
meeting  Madame  de  Portenduère's  e^es  rather  than 
give  too  much  meaning  to  her  words  b}-  looking  at 
Savinien. 

"  I  cannot  know,  madame,"  said  Savinien  to  his 
mother,  "  whether  Mademoiselle  Ursula  suffers,  but  I 
do  know  that  3'ou  are  torturing  me." 

Hearing  these  words,  dragged  from  the  generous 
young  man  b}'  his  mother's  treatment  of  herself,  Ursula 
turned  pale  and  begged  Madame  de  Portenduère  to 
excuse  her  ;  then  she  took  her  uncle's  arm,  bowed,  left 
the  room,  and  returned  home.  Once  there,  she  rushed 
to  the  salon  and  sat  down  to  the  piano,  put  her  head  in 
her  hands,  and  burst  into  tears. 

"  AVhy  dfm't  you  leave  the  management  of  3'our 
affairs  to  m}'  old  experience,  cruel  child  ?  "  cried  the  doc- 
tor in  despair.  "  Nobles  never  think  themselves  under 
an}'  obligations  to  the  bourgeoisie.  When  we  do  them 
a  service  they  consider  that  we  do  our  dut}',  and  that 's 
all.  Besides,  the  old  lady  saw  that  you  looked  favor- 
ably on  Savinien  ;  she  is  afraid  he  will  love  you." 


Ursula.  199 

"At  am'  rate,  he  is  saved!"  said  Ursula.  "But 
ah  !  to  tr}'  to  humiliate  a  man  like  you  !  " 

"  Wait  till  I  return,  my  child,"  said  the  old  man 
leaving   her.  ^ 

When  the  doctor  re-entered  Madame  de  Portenduère's 
salon  he  found  Dionis  tlie  notary,  accompanied  by 
Monsieur  Bongrand  and  the  raa3or  of  Xemours,  wit- 
nesses required  by  law  for  the  validit}'  of  deeds  in  all 
communes  where  there  is  but  one  notary.  Minoret 
took  Monsieur  Dionis  aside  and  said  a  word  in  his  ear, 
after  which  the  notary  read  the  deeds  aloud  officially  ; 
from  which  it  appeared  that  Madame  de  Portenduère 
gave  a  mortgage  on  all  her  property  to  secure  paj-ment 
of  the  hundred  thousand  francs,  the  interest  on  which 
was  fixed  at  five  per  cent.  At  the  reading  of  this  last 
clause  the  abbé  looked  at  Minoret,  who  answered  with 
an  approving  nod.  The  poor  priest  whispered  some- 
thing in  the  old  lady's  ear  to  which  she  replied,  — 

"  I  will  owe  nothing  to  such  persons." 

"  My  mother  leaves  me  the  nobler  part,"  said  Savi- 
nien  to  the  doctor;  "she  will  repa}'  the  money  and 
charges  me  to  show^  our  gratitude." 

"  But  you  will  have  to  pay  eleven  thousand  francs 
the  first  year  to  meet  the  interest  and  the  legal  costs," 
said  the  abb*'-. 

"Monsieur,"  said  Minoret  to  Dionis,  "  as  Monsieur 
and  Madame  de  Portenduère  are  not  in  a  condition  to 


200  Ursula. 

pay  those  costs,  add  them  to  the  amount  of  the  mort- 
gage and  I  will  pa}'  them." 

Dionis  made  the  change  and  the  sura  borrowed  was 
fixed  at  one  hundred  and  seven  thousand  francs. 
When  the  papers  were  all  signed,  Minoret  made  his 
fatigue  an  excuse  to  leave  the  house  at  the  same  time 
as  the  notary  and  witnesses. 

"Madame,"  said  the  abbé,  "why  did  you  affront 
that  excellent  Monsieur  Minoret,  who  saved  you  at 
least  twenty-five  thousand  francs  on  those  debts  in 
Paris,  and  had  the  delicacy  to  give  twenty  thousand  to 
your  son  for  his  debts  of  honor?  " 

"  Your  Minoret  is  sly,"  she  said,  taking  a  pinch  of 
snuff.     "  He  knows  what  he  is  about." 

"  My  mother  thinks  he  wishes  to  force  me  into 
marrying  his  niece  by  getting  hold  of  our  farm,"  said 
Savinien  ;  "as  if  a  Portenduere,  son  of  a  Kergarouet, 
could  be  made  to  marry  against  his  will." 

An  hour  later,  Savinien  presented  himself  at  the 
doctor's  house,  where  all  the  relatives  had  assembled, 
enticed  by  curiosity.  The  arrival  of  the  young  vis- 
count produced  a  lively  sensation,  all  the  more  because 
its  effect  was  different  on  each  person  present.  Mes- 
demoiselles Crémière  and  Massin  whispered  together 
and  looked  at  Ursula,  who  blushed.  The  mothers  said 
to  Désiré  that  Goupil  perhaps  was  right  about  the  mar- 
riage.    The   eyes   of  all   present   turned    towards   the 


Ursula.  201 

doctor,  who  did  not  rise  to  receive  the  young  nobleman, 
but  merely  bowed  his  head  without  laying  down  the 
dice-box,  for  he  was  playing  a  game  of  backgammon 
with  Monsieur  Bongrand.  The  doctor's  cold  manner 
surprised  ever}-  one. 

"  Ursula,  my  child,"  he  said,  "  give  us  a  little 
music." 

While  the  young  girl,  delighted  to  have  something 
to  do  to  Iceep  her  in  countenance,  went  to  the  piano  and 
began  to  move  the  green-covered  music-books,  the  heirs 
resigned  themselves,  with  many  demonstrations  of 
pleasure,  to  the  torture  and  the  silence  about  to  be 
inflicted  on  them,  so  eager  were  they  to  find  out  what 
was  going  on  between  their  uncle  and  the  Porteudueres. 

It  sometimes  happens  that  a  piece  of  music,  poor  in 
itself,  when  played  by  a  3'oung  girl  under  the  influence 
of  deep  feeling,  makes  more  impression  than  a  fine 
overture  played  by  a  full  orchestra.  In  all  music  there 
is,  besides  the  thought  of  the  composer,  the  soul  of  tlie 
performer,  who,  by  a  privilege  granted  to  this  art  only, 
can  give  both  meaning  and  poetry-  to  passages  which 
are  in  themselves  of  no  great  value.  Cliopin  proves, 
for  that  unresponsive  instrument  the  piano,  the  truth 
of  this  fact,  already  proved  b}'  Paganini  on  the  vioUn. 
That  fine  genius  is  less  a  musician  than  a  soul  which 
makes  itself  felt,  and  communicates  itself  through 
all  species  of  music,  even   simple  chords.     Ursula,  by 


202  Ursula. 

her  exquisite  and  sensitive  organization,  belonged  to 
this  rare  class  of  beings,  and  old  Schmucke,  the  master, 
who  came  ever}-  Saturday  and  who,  during  Ursula's 
stay  in  Paris  was  with  her  every  da}',  had  brought  his 
pupil's  talent  to  its  full  perfection.  "  Rousseau's 
Dream,"  the  piece  now  chosen  by  Ursula,  composed  by 
Hérold  in  his  3'oung  da^'s,  is  not  without  a  certain  depth 
which  is  capable  of  being  developed  b}-  execution. 
Ursula  threw  into  it  the  feelings  which  were  agitating 
her  being,  and  justified  the  term  "  caprice  "  given  by 
Hérold  to  the  fragment.  With  soft  and  dream}^  touch 
her  soul  spoke  to  the  young  man's  soul  and  wrapped  it, 
as  in  a  cloud,  with  ideas  that  were  almost  visible. 

Sitting  at  the  end  of  the  piano,  his  elbow  resting  on 
the  coN'er  and  his  head  on  his  left  hand,  Savinien  ad- 
mired Ursula,  whose  eyes,  fixed  on  the  panelling  of  the 
wall  beyond  him,  seemed  to  be  questioning  another 
world.  Man}-  a  man  would  have  fallen  deeply  in  love 
for  a  less  reason.  Genuine  feelings  haA-e  a  magnetism 
of  their  own,  and  Ursula  was  willing  to  show  her  soul, 
as  a  coquette  her  dresses  to  be  admired.  Savinien  en- 
tered that  delightful  kingdom,  led  by  this  pure  heart, 
which,  to  interpret  its  feelings,  borrowed  the  power  of 
the  only  art  that  speaks  to  thought  by  thought,  without 
the  help  of  words,  or  color,  or  form.  Candor,  openness 
of  lieart  have  the  same  power  over  a  man  that  child- 
hood has  ;  the  same  charm,  the  same  irresistible  seduc- 


Ursula.  203 

tions.  Ursula  was  never  more  honest  and  candid  than 
at  this  moment,  when  she  was  born  again  into  a  new 
life. 

The  abbé  came  to  tear  Savinien  from  his  dream,  re- 
questing him  to  take  a  fourth  hand  at  whist.  Ursula 
went  on  playing  ;  the  heirs  departed,  all  except  Desire, 
who  was  resolved  to  find  out  the  intentions  of  his  uncle 
and  the  viscount  and  Ursula. 

"  You  have  as  much  talent  as  soul,  mademoiselle," 
he  said,  when  the  young  girl  closed  the  piano  and  sat 
down  beside  her  godfather.     "  Who  is  your  master?  " 

"  A  German,  living  close  to  the  Rue  Dauphine  on 
the  quai  Conti,"  said  the  doctor.  "  If  he  had  not  given 
Ursula  a  lesson  every  day  during  her  stay  in  Paris  he 
would  have  been  here  to-day." 

"  He  is  not  onl}'  a  great  musician,"  said  Ursula, "but 
a  man  of  adorable  simplicit}'  of  nature." 

"  Those  lessons  must  cost  a  great  deal,"  remarked 
Desire. 

The  players  smiled  ironically.  When  the  game  was 
over  the  doctor,  who  had  hitherto  seemed  anxious  and 
pensive,  turned  to  Savinien  with  the  air  of  a  man  who 
fulfils  a  duty. 

"Monsieur,"  he  said,  "lam  grateful  for  the  feel- 
ing which  leads  30U  to  make  me  this  earlj'  visit  ;  but 
3'our  mother  attributes  unworth}-  and  underhand  motives 
to  what  I  have  done,  and  I  should  give  her  the  risht  to 


204  Ursula. 

call  them  true  if  I  did  not  request  you  to  refrain  from 
coming  here,  in  spite  of  tlie  honor  3'our  visits  are  to  me, 
and  the  pleasure  I  should  otherwise  feel  in  cultivating 
your  society.  Tell  3'our  mother  that  if  I  do  not  beg 
her,  in  m}^  niece's  name  and  my  own,  to  do  us  the 
honor  of  dining  here  next  Sunday  it  is  because  I  am 
very  certain  that  she  would  find  herself  indisposed  on 
that  da}'." 

The  old  man  held  out  his  hand  to  the  young  viscount, 
who  pressed  it  respectfully,  saying  :  — 

"  You  are  quite  right,  monsieur." 

He  then  withdrew  ;  but  not  without  a  bow  to 
Ursula,  in  which  there  was  more  of  sadness  than  dis- 
appointment. 

Desire  left  the  house  at  the  same  time  ;  but  he  found 
it  impossible  to  exchange  even  a  word  with  the  young 
nobleman,  who  rushed  into  his  own  house  precipitately. 


Ursula.  205 


XIII. 

BETROTHAL   OF   HEARTS. 

This  rupture  between  the  Portendueres  and  Doctor 
Minoret  gave  talk  among  the  heirs  for  a  week  ;  they 
did  homage  to  the  genius  of  Dionis,  and  regarded  their 
inheritance  as  rescued. 

So,  in  an  age  when  ranks  are  levelled,  when  the 
mania  for  equality  puts  everybody  on  one  footing  and 
threatens  to  destroy  all  bulwarks,  even  military  subor- 
dination, —  that  last  refuge  of  power  in  France,  where 
passions  have  now  no  other  obstacles  to  overcome  than 
personal  antipathies,  or  differences  of  fortune,  —  the 
obstinacy  of  an  old-fashioned  Breton  woman  and  the 
dignity  of  Doctor  Minoret  created  a  barrier  between 
these  lovers,  which  was  to  end,  as  such  obstacles  often 
do,  not  in  destroying,  but  in  strengthening  love.  To  an 
ardent  man  a  woman's  value  is  that  which  she  costs 
him  ;  Savinien  foresaw  a  struggle,  great  efforts,  many 
uncertainties,  and  alread}'  the  young  girl  was  rendered 
dearer  to  him  ;  he  was  resolved  to  win  her.  Perhaps 
our  feelings  obey  the  laws  of  nature  as  to  the  lasting- 
ness  of  her  creations  ;  to  a  long  life  a  long  childhood. 

The  next  morning,  when  thej'  woke,  Ursula  and  Savi- 
nien had  the  same  thought.     An  intimate  understanding 


206  Ursvla. 

of  this  kind  would  create  love  if  it  were  not  already  its 
most  precious  proof.  When  the  3'oung  girl  parted  her 
curtains  just  far  enough  to  let  her  eyes  take  m  Savi- 
nien's  window,  she  saw  the  face  of  her  lover  above  the 
fastening  of  his.  When  one  reflects  on  the  unmense 
services  that  windows  render  to  lovers  it  seems  natural 
and  right  that  a  tax  should  be  levied  on  them.  Hav- 
ing thus  protested  against  her  godfather's  harshness, 
Ursula  dropped  the  curtain  and  opened  her  window  to 
close  the  outer  blinds,  through  which  she  could  continue 
to  see  without  being  seen  herself.  Seven  or  eight  times 
during  the  da}'  she  went  up  to  her  room,  always  to  find 
the  3'onng  viscount  writing,  tearing  up  what  he  had 
written,  and  then  writing  again  —  to  her,  no  doubt  ! 

The  next  morning  when  she  woke  La  Bougival  gave 
her  the  following  letter  :  — 

To  Mademoiselle  Ursula  . 

Mademoiselle, — I  do  not  conceal  from  myself  the  dis- 
trust a  young  man  inspires  when  he  has  placed  himself  in 
the  position  from  which  your  godfather's  kindness  released 
me.  I  know  tliat  I  must  in  future  give  greater  guarantees 
of  good  conduct  than  other  men  ;  therefore,  mademoiselle,  it 
is  with  deep  humility  that  I  place  myself  at  your  feet  and 
ask  you  to  consider  my  love.  This  declaration  is  not  dic- 
tated by  passion,  it  comes  from  an  inward  certainty  which  in- 
volves the  whole  of  life.  A  foolish  infatuation  for  my  young 
aunt,  Madame  de  Kergarouet,  was  the  cause  of  my  going  to 
prison;  will  you  not  regard  as  a  proof  of  my  sincere  love  the 
total  disappearance   of   those   wishes,    of   that   image,   now 


Ursula.  207 

effaced  from  ray  heart  by  yours  ?  No  sooner  did  I  see  you, 
asleep  and  so  engaging  in  your  childlike  slumber  at  Bouron, 
than  you  occupied  my  soul  as  a  queen  takes  possession  of 
her  empire.  I  will  have  no  other  wife  than  you.  You  have 
every  qualification  I  desire  in  her  who  is  to  bear  my  name. 
The  education  you  have  received  and  the  dignity  of  your 
own  mind,  place  you  on  the  level  of  the  highest  positions. 
But  I  doubt  myself  too  much  to  dare  describe  you  to  your- 
self ;  I  can  only  love  you.  After  listening  to  you  yesterday 
I  recalled  certain  words  which  seem  as  though  written  for 
you  ;  suffer  me  to  transcribe  them  :  — 

"  IVIade  to  draw  all  hearts  and  charm  all  eyes,  gentle  and 
intelligent,  spiritual  yet  able  to  reason,  courteous  as  though 
she  had  passed  her  life  at  court,  simple  as  the  hermit  who 
has  never  known  the  world,  the  fire  of  her  soul  is  tempered 
in  her  eyes  by  sacred  modesty." 

I  feel  the  value  of  the  noble  soul  revealed  in  you  by  many, 
even  the  most  trifling,  things.  This  it  is  which  gives  me  the 
courage  to  ask  you,  provided  you  love  no  one  else,  to  let  me 
prove  to  you  by  my  conduct  and  my  devotion  that  I  am  not 
unworthy  of  you.  It  concerns  my  very  life;  you  cannot 
doubt  that  all  my  powers  will  be  employed, not  only  in  trying 
to  please  you,  but  in  deserving  your  esteem,  which  is  more 
precious  to  me  than  any  other  upon  earth.  With  this  hope, 
Ursula  —  if  you  will  suffer  me  so  to  call  you  in  my  heart  — 
Nemours  will  be  to  me  a  paradise,  the  hardest  tasks  will  bring 
me  joys  derived  through  you,  as  life  itself  is  derived  from  God. 
Tell  me  that  I  may  call  myself  Your  Savixien. 

Ursula  kissed  the  letter;  then,  having  re-read  it  and 
clasped  it  with  passionate  motions,  she  dressed  herself 
eagerly  to  carry  it  to  hor  uncle. 


208  Ursula. 

"  Ah,  my  God  !  I  nearl}'  forgot  to  say  my  prayers  !  " 
she  exclaimed,  turning  back  to  kneel  on  her  prie-Dieu. 

A  few  moments  later  she  went  down  to  the  garden, 
where  she  found  her  godfather  and  made  hmi  read  the 
letter.  They  both  sat  down  on  a  bench  under  the  arch 
of  climbing  plants  opposite  to  the  Chinese  pagoda. 
Ursula  awaited  the  old  man's  words,  and  the  old  man 
reflected  long,  too  long  for  the  impatient  ^oung  girl.  At 
last,  the  result  of  their  secret  interview  appeared  in  the 
following  answer,  part  of  which  the  doctor  undoubtedl}' 
dictated. 

To  Monsieur  le  Vicomte  Savinien  de  Portenduère  ■ 

Monsieur,  —  I  cannot  be  otherwise  than  greatly  lionored 
by  the  letter  in  whicli  you  offer  me  your  hand;  hut,  at  my  age, 
and  according  to  the  rules  of  my  education,  I  have  felt  bound 
to  communicate  it  to  my  godfather,  who  is  all  I  have,  and 
whom  I  love  as  a  father  and  also  as  a  friend.  I  must  now 
tell  you  the  painful  objections  which  he  has  made  to  me,  and 
which  must  be  to  you  my  answer. 

Monsieur  le  vicomte,  I  am  a  poor  girl,  whose  fortune  de- 
pends entirely,  not  only  on'  my  godfather's  good-will,  but  also 
on  tlie  doubtful  success  of  the  measures  he  may  take  to  elude 
the  schemes  of  his  relatives  against  me.  Though  I  am  the 
legitimate  daughter  of  Joseph  Mirouet,  band  master  of  the 
45th  regiment  of  infantry,  my  father  himself  was  my  god- 
father's natural  lialf-brother;  and  therefore  these  relatives 
may,  though  without  reason,  bi'ing  a  suit  against  a  young 
girl  who  would  be  defenceless.  You  see,  monsieur,  that  the 
smallness  of  my  fortune  is  not  my  greatest  misfortune.  I 
have  many  things  to  make  me  humble.     It  is  for  your  sake, 


Ursula.  209 

and  not  for  my  own,  that  I  lay  before  you  these  facts,  which 
to  loving  and  devoted  hearts  are  sometimes  of  little  weight. 
But  I  beg  you  to  consider,  monsieur,  that  if  I  did  not  submit 
them  to  you,  I  might  be  suspected  of  leading  your  tenderness 
to  overlook  obstacles  which  the  world,  and  more  especially 
your  mother,  regard  as  insuperable. 

I  shall  be  sixteen  in  four  months.  Perhaps  you  will  admit 
that  we  are  both  too  young  and  too  inexperienced  to  under- 
stand the  miseries  of  a  life  entered  upon  without  other  for- 
tune than  that  I  received  from  the  kindness  of  the  late 
Monsieur  de  Jordy.  My  godfather  desires,  moreover,  not  to 
marry  me  until  I  am  twenty.  Who  knows  what  fate  may 
have  in  store  for  you  in  four  years,  the  finest  years  of  your 
life?  do  not  sacrifice  them  to  a  poor  girl. 

Having  thus  explained  to  you,  monsieur,  the  opinions  of 
my  dear  godfather,  who,  far  from  opposing  my  happiness, 
seeks  to  contribute  to  it  in  every  way,  and  earnestly  desires 
that  his  protection,  which  must  soon  fail  me,  may  be  replaced 
by  a  tenderness  equal  to  his  own  ;  there  remains  only  to  tell 
you  how  touched  I  am  by  your  offer  and  by  the  compliments 
which  accompany  it.  The  prudence  which  dictates  my  letter 
is  that  of  an  old  man  to  whom  life  is  well-known  ;  but  the 
gratitude  I  express  is  that  of  a  yoimg  girl,  in  whose  soul  no 
other  sentiment  has  arisen. 

Therefore,  monsieur,  I  can  sign  myself,  in  all  sincerity, 
Your  servant, 

Ursula  Mirouët. 

Savinien  made  no  reply.  Was  he  trying  to  soften 
his  mother?  Had  this  letter  put  an  end  to  his  love? 
Man}'  such  questions,  all  insoluble,  tormented  poor 
Ursula,  and,  by  repercussion,  the  doctor  too,  who  suf- 

14 


210  Ursula. 

fered  from  every  agitation  of  his  darling  child.  Ursula 
went  often  to  her  chamber  to  look  at  Savinien,  whom 
she  usuall3'  found  sitting  pensively  before  his  table 
with  his  e^-es  turned  towards  her  window.  At  the  end 
of  the  week,  but  no  sooner,  she  received  a  letter  from 
him  ;  the  delay  was  explained  by  his  increasing  love. 

To  Mademoiselle  Ursula  Mikodët  : 

Dear  Ursula,  —  I  am  a  Breton,  and  when  my  mind  is 
once  made  up  nothing  can  change  me.  Your  godfather, 
whom  may  God  preserve  to  us,  is  right  ;  but  does  it  follow 
that  I  am  wrong  in  loving  you  ?  Thei'efore,  all  I  want 
to  know  from  you  is  whether  you  could  love  me.  Tell  me 
this,  if  only  by  a  sign,  and  then  the  next  four  years  will  be 
the  finest  of  my  life. 

A  friend  of  mine  has  delivered  to  my  great-uncle,  Vice- 
admiral  Kergarouet,  a  letter  in  which  I  asked  his  help  to 
enter  the  navy.  The  kind  old  man,  grieved  at  my  misfor- 
tunes, replies  that  even  the  king's  favor  would  be  thwarted 
by  the  rules  of  the  service  in  case  I  wanted  a  certain  rank. 
Nevertheless,  if  I  study  three  months  at  Toulon,  the  minister 
of  war  can  send  me  to  sea  as  master's  mate  ;  then  after  a 
cruise  against  the  Algerines,  with  whom  we  are  now  at  war, 
I  can  go  through  an  examination  and  become  a  midshipman. 
Moreover,  if  I  distinguish  myself  in  an  expedition  they  are 
fitting  out  against  Algiers,  I  shall  certainly  be  made  ensign 
—  but  how  soon  ?  that  no  one  can  tell.  Only,  they  will 
make  the  rules  as  elastic  as  possible  to  have  the  name  of 
Portenduère  again  in  the  navy. 

I  see  very  plainly  that  I  can  only  hope  to  obtain  you  from 
your  godfather  ;  and  your  respect  for  him  makes  you  still 
dearer  to  me.     Before  replying  to  the  admiral,  I  must  have 


Ursula.  211 

an  interview  with  the  doctor;  on  his  reply  my  whole  future 
will  depend.  Whatever  comes  of  it,  know  this,  that  rich  or 
poor,  the  daughter  of  a  band  master  or  the  daughter  of  a 
king,  you  are  the  woman  whom  the  voice  of  my  heart  points 
out  to  me.  Dear  Ursula,  we  live  in  times  when  prejudices 
which  might  once  have  separated  us  have  no  power  to  pre- 
vent our  marriage.  To  you,  then,  I  offer  the  feelings  of  my 
heart,  to  your  uncle  the  guarantees  which  secure  to  him  your 
happiness.  He  has  not  seen  that  I,  in  a  few  hours,  came 
to  love  you  more  than  he  has  loved  you  in  fifteen  years. 
Until  this  evening. 

Savinien. 

"  Here,  godfather,"  said  Ursula,  holding  the  letter 
out  to  him  with  a  proud  gesture. 

"  Ah,  mj'  child  !  "  cried  the  doctor  when  he  had  read 
it,  "  I  am  happier  than  even  you.  He  repairs  all  his 
faults  by  this  resolution." 

After  dinner  Savinien  presented  himself,  and  found 
the  doctor  walking  with  Ursula  b}*  the  balustrade  of 
the  terrace  overlooking  the  river.  The  viscount  had 
received  his  clothes  from  Paris,  and  had  not  missed 
heightening  his  natural  advantages  by  a  careful  toilet, 
as  elegant  as  though  he  were  still  striving  to  please  the 
proud  and  beautiful  Comtesse  de  Kergarouet.  Seeing 
him  approach  her  from  the  portico,  the  poor  girl  clung 
to  her  uncle's  arm  as  though  she  were  saving  herself 
from  a  fall  over  a  precipice,  and  the  doctor  heard  the 
beating  of  her  heart,  which  made  him  shudder. 


212  Ursula. 

"  Leave  us,  m}'  child,"  he  said  to  the  girl,  who  went 
to  the  pagoda  and  sat  upon  the  steps,  after  allowing 
Savinien  to  take  her  hand  and  kiss  it  respectfully. 

'  '  Monsieur,  will  3'ou  give  this  dear  hand  to  a  naval 
captain  ?  "  he  said  to  the  doctor  in  a  low  voice. 

"No,"  said  Minoret,  smiling;  "we  might  have  to 
wait  too  long,  but  —  I  will  give  her  to  a  lieutenant." 

Tears  of  joy  filled  the  3'oung  man's  eyes  as  he  pressed 
the  doctor's  hand  affectionately. 

"I  am  about  to  leave,"  he  said,  "to  stud^y  hard 
and  try  to  learn  in  six  months  what  the  pupils  of  the 
[Naval  School  take  six  years  to  acquire." 

"You  are  going?"  said  Ursula,  springing  towards 
them  from  the  pavilion. 

"  Yes,  mademoiselle,  to  deserve  you.  Therefore  the 
more  eager  I  am  to  go,  the  more  I  prove  to  3'Ou  my 
affection." 

"  This  is  the  3d  of  October,"  she  said,  looking  at 
him  with  infinite  tenderness  ;  "  do  not  go  till  after 
the  19th." 

"  Y'es,"  said  the  old  man,  "  we  will  celebrate  Saint- 
Savinien's  da}-." 

"  Good-b}-,  then,"  cried  the  3'oung  man.  "  I  must 
spend  this  week  in  Paris,,  to  take  the  preliminary  steps, 
bu}^  books  and  mathematical  instruments,  and  try  to 
conciliate  the  minister  and  get  the  best  terms  that  I  can 
for  myself." 


Ursula.  213 

Ursula  and  her  godfather  accompanied  Savinien  to 
the  gate.  Soon  after  he  entered  his  mother's  house  they 
saw  him  come  out  agam,  followed  by  Tiennette  canying 
his  valise. 

"  If  ^'ou  are  so  rich,"  said  Ursula  to  her  uncle,  "  why 
do  you  make  him  serve  in  the  navj'?  " 

"  Presently  it  will  be  I  who  incurred  his  debts,"  said 
the  doctor,  smiling.  "  I  don't  oblige  him  to  do  any- 
thing ;  but  the  uniform,  my  dear,  and  the  cross  of  the 
Legion  of  honor,  won  in  battle,  will  wipe  out  many 
stains.  Before  six  3'ears  are  over  he  may  be  in  com- 
mand of  a  ship,  and  that's  all  I  ask  of  him." 

"  But  he  may  be  killed,"  she  said,  turning  a  pale  face 
upon  the  doctor. 

"  Lovers,  like  drunkards,  have  a  providence  of  their 
own,"  he  said,  laughhig. 

That  night  the  poor  child,  with  La  Bougival's  help,  cut 
off  a  sufficient  quantity  of  her  long  and  beautiful  blond 
hair  to  make  a  chain  ;  and  the  next  daj'  she  persuaded 
old  Scihmucko,  the  music-master,  to  take  it  to  Paris  and 
have  the  chain  made  and  returned  b}'  the  following 
Sunday.  When  Savinien  got  back  he  informed  the 
doctor  and  Ursula  tliat  he  had  signed  his  articles  and 
was  to  be  at  Brest  on  the  25th.  The  doctor  açked  him 
to  dinner  on  the  18th,  and  he  passed  near!}-  two  whole 
daj's  in  the  old  man's  house.  Notwithstanding  much 
sage  advice  and  man\'  resolutions,  the  lovers  could  not 


214  Ursula. 

help  betra3'ing  their  secret  understanding  to  the  watch- 
ful eyes  of  the  abbé,  Monsieur  Bongrand,  the  Nemours 
doctor,  and  La  Bougival. 

"  Children,"  said  the  old  man,  "  30U  are  risking  your 
happiness  by  not  keeping  it  to  3'ourselves." 

On  the  fête-day,  after  mass,  during  which  scA'eral 
glances  had  been  exchanged,  Savinien,  watched  b}' 
Ursula,  crossed  the  road  and  entered  the  little  garden 
where  the  pair  were  practicall}'  alone  ;  for  the  kind  old 
man,  by  way  of  indulgence,  was  reading  his  newspapers 
in  the  pagoda. 

"Dear  Ursula,"  said  Savinien;  "will  you  make  a 
gift  greater  than  m^'  mother  could  make  me  even  if —  " 

"  I  know  what  you  wish  to  ask  me,"  she  said,  inter- 
rupting him.  "  See,  here  is  my  answer,"  she  added, 
taking  from  the  pocket  of  her  apron  the  box  containing 
the  chain  made  of  her  hair,  and  offering  it  to  him  with 
a  nervous  tremor  which  testified  to  her  illimitable  hap- 
piness. "  Wear  it,"  she  said,  "  for  love  of  me.  Ma}* 
it  shield  you  from  all  dangers  hy  reminding  3-ou  that 
my  life  depends  on  yours." 

"Naughty  little  thing!  she  is  giving  him  a  chain  of 
her  hair,"  said  the  doctor  to  himself.  "How  did  she 
manage  to  get  it?  what  a  pit}' to  cut  those  beautiful  fair 
tresses  ;  she  will  be  giving  him  my  life's  blood  next." 

"  You  will  not  blame  me  if  I  ask  j-ou  to  give  me, 
now  that  I  am  leaving  you,  a  formal  promise  to  liave  no 


Ursula.  215 

other  liusband   than   me,"   said    Savinien,   kissing  the 
chain  and  looking  at  Ursula  with  tears  in  his  eyes. 

"Have  I  not  said  so  too  often  —  J  who  went  to 
see  the  walls  of  Sainte-Pélagie  when  you  were  behind 
them?  —  "  she  replied,  blushing.  "I  repeat  it,  Savi- 
nien ;  I  shall  never  love  any  one  but  you,  and  I  will  be 
yours  alone." 

Seeing  that  Ursula  was  half-hidden  hy  the  creepers, 
the  3'oung  man  could  not  deny  himself  the  happiness  of 
pressing  her  to  his  heart  and  kissing  her  forehead  ; 
but  she  gave  a  feeble  cry  and  dropped  upon  the  bench, 
and  when  Savinien  sat  beside  her,  entreating  pardon,  he 
saw  the  doctor  standing  before  them. 

"  My  friend,"  said  the  old  man,  "  Ursula  is  a  born 
sensitive  ;  too  rough  a  word  might  kill  her.  For  her 
sake  you  must  moderate  the  enthusiasm  of  your  love  — 
Ah  !  if  3'ou  had  loved  her  for  sixteen  3'ears  as  I  Jiave, 
you  would  have  been  satisfied  with  her  word  of  prom- 
ise," he  added,  to  revenge  himself  for  the  last  sentence 
in  Savinien's  second  letter. 

Two  da3's  later  the  3'oung  man  departed.  In  spite 
of  the  letters  which  he  wrote  regularl3'  to  Ursula,  she 
fell  a  pre3'  to  an  illness  without  apparent  cause.  Like 
a  fine  fruit  with  a  worm  at  the  core,  a  single  thought 
gnawed  her  heart.  She  lost  both  appetite  and  color. 
The  first  time  her  godfather  asked  her  what  she  felt, 
she  replied  :  — 


216  Ursula. 

"  I  want  to  see  the  ocean." 

"It  is  difficult  to  take  3-ou  to  a  sea-port  in  the  depth 
of  winter,"  answered  the  old  man. 

"  Shall  I  really  go?  "  she  said. 

If  the  wind  was  high,  Ursula  was  inwardly  convulsed, 
certain,  in  spite  of  the  learned  assurances  of  the  doctor 
and  the  abbé,  that  Savinien  was  being  tossed  about  in 
a  whirlwind.  Monsieur-  Bongrand  made  her  happy  for 
days  with  the  gift  of  an  engraving  representing  a  mid- 
shipman in  uniform.  She  read  the  newspapers,  imagin- 
ing that  the}'  would  give  news  of  the  cruiser  on  which 
her  lover  sailed.  She  devoured  Cooper's  sea-tales  and 
learned  to  use  sea-terms.  Such  proofs  of  concentration 
of  feeling,  often  assumed  by  other  women,  were  so  genu- 
ine in  Ursula  that  she  saw  in  dreams  the  coming  of 
Savinien's  letters,  and  never  failed  to  announce  them, 
relating  the  dream  as  a  forerunner. 

"Now,"  she  said  to  the  doctor  the  fourth  time  that 
this  happened,  "I  am  easy;  wherever  Savinien  may 
be,  if  he  is  wounded  I  shall  know  it  instantly." 

The  old  doctor  thought  over  this  remark  so  anxiously 
that  the  abbé  and  Monsieur  Bongrand  were  troubled  by 
the  sorrowful  expression  of  his  face. 

"What  pains  you?"  they  said,  when  Ursula  had 
left  them. 

"  Will  she  live?"  replied  the  doctor.  "  Can  so  ten- 
der and  delicate  a  flower  endure  the  trials  of  the  heart  ?  " 


Ursula.  217 

Nevertheless,  the  "  little  dreamer,"  as  the  abbé  called 
her,  was  working  hard.  She  understood  the  impor- 
tance of  a  fine  education  to  a  woman  of  the  world,  and 
all  the  time  she  did  not  giA^e  to  her  singing  and  to  the 
study  of  harmony  and  composition  she  spent  in  read- 
ing the  books  chosen  for  her  by  the  abbé  from  her  god- 
father's rich  library.  And  yet  while  leading  this  busy 
life  she  suffered,  tliough  without  complaint.  Sometimes 
she  would  sit  for  hours  looking  at  Savinien's  window. 
On  Sundays  she  would  leave  the  church  behind  Madame 
de  Portenduère  and  watch  her  tended}'  ;  for,  in  spite  of 
the  old  ladj's  harshness,  she  loved  her  as  Savinien's 
mother.  Her  piet}'  increased  ;  she  went  to  mass  every 
morning,  for  she  firmly  believed  that  her  dreams  were 
the  gift  of  God. 

At  last  her  godfather,  frightened  b}-  the  effects  pro- 
duced b}'  this  nostalgia  of  love,  promised  on  her  birth- 
da}'  to  take  her  to  Toulon  to  see  the  departure  of  the 
fleet  for  Algiei's.  Savinien's  ship  formed  part  of  it,  but 
he  was  not  to  be  informed  beforehand  of  their  inten- 
tion. The  abbé  and  Monsieur  Bongrand  kept  secret  the 
object  of  this  journey,  said  to  be  for  Ursula's  health, 
which  disturbed  and  greatly  puzzled  the  relations. 
After  beholding  Savinieu  in  his  naval  uniform,  and 
going  on  board  the  fine  flag-ship  of  the  admiral,  to 
whom  the  minister  had  given  3'oung  Portenduère  a 
special  recommendation,  Ursula,  at  her  lover's  entreaty, 


218  Ursula. 

went  with  her  godfather  to  Nice,  and  along  the  shores 
of  the  Mediterranean  to  Genoa,  where  she  heard  of  the 
safe  arrival  of  the  fleet  at  Algiers  and  the  landing  of 
the  troops.  The  doctor  would  have  liked  to  continue 
the  journey  through  Ital}',  as  much  to  distract  Ursula's 
mind  as  to  finish,  in  some  sense,  her  education,  b^- 
enlarging  her  ideas  through  comparison  with  other  man- 
ners and  customs  and  countries,  and  by  the  fascina- 
tions of  a  land  where  the  masterpieces  of  art  can  still 
be  seen,  and  where  so  many  civilizations  have  left  their 
brilliant  traces.  But  the  tidings  of  the  opposition  by 
the  throne  to  the  newh'  elected  Chamber  of  1830 
obliged  the  doctor  to  return  to  France,  bringing  back 
his  treasure  in  a  flourishing  state  of  health  and  pos- 
sessed of  a  charming  little  model  of  the  ship  on  which 
Savinien  was  serving. 

The  elections  of  1830  united  into  an  active  bod}'  the 
various  Minoret  relations,  —  Desire  and  Goupil  having 
formed  a  committee  in  Nemours  by  whose  eflîbrts  a 
liberal  candidate  was  put  in  nomination  at  Fontaine- 
bleau. Massin,  as  collector  of  taxes,  exercised  an 
enormous  influence  over  the  country  electors.  Five  of 
the  post  master's  farmers  were  electors.  Dionis  repre- 
sented eleven  votes.  After  a  few  meetings  at  the 
notary's,  Crémière,  Massin,  the  post  master,  and  their 
adherents  took  a  habit  of  assembling  there.  B>'  the 
tniie  the  doctor  returned,  Dionis's  office  and  salon  were 


Ursula.  219 

the  camp  of  his  heirs.  The  justice  of  peace  and  the 
ma^or,  who  had  formed  an  alliance,  backed  by  the 
nobilitj'  in  the  neighboring  castles,  to  resist  the  liberals 
of  Nemours,  now  worsted  in  their  efforts,  were  more 
closely  united  than  ever  by  their  defeat. 

B3'  the  time  Bongrand  and  the  Abbé  Chaperon  were 
able  to  tell  the  doctor  by  word  of  mouth  the  result  of 
the  antagonism,  which  was  defined  for  the  first  time, 
between  the  two  classes  in  Nemours  (giving  incident- 
ally such  importance  to  his  heirs)  Charles  X.  had  left 
Rambouillet  for  Cherbourg.  Desire  Minoret,  whose 
opinions  were  those  of  the  Paris  bar,  sent  for  fifteen  of 
his  friends,  commanded  by  Goupil  and  mounted  on 
horses  from  his  father's  stable,  who  arrived  in  Paris  on 
the  night  of  the  28th.  With  this  troop  Goupil  and 
Desire  took  part  in  the  capture  of  the  Hôtel-de-Ville. 
Desire  was  decorated  with  the  Legion  of  honor  and 
appointed  deput}^  procureur  du  roi  at  Fontainebleau. 
Goupil  received  the  July  cross.  Dionis  was  elected 
mayor  of  Nemours,  and  the  city  council  was  composed 
of  the  post  master  (now  assistant-ma3or),  Massin,  Cré- 
mière, and  all  the  adherents  of  the  family  faction.  Bon- 
grand retained  his  place  onlj-  through  the  influence  of 
his  son,  procureur  du  roi  at  Melun,  whose  marriage 
with  Mademoiselle  Levrault  was  then  on   the  tapis. 

Seeing  the  three-per-cents  quoted  at  forty-five,  the 
doctor  started  by  post  for  Paris,  and  invested  five  hun- 


220  Ursula. 

dred  and  forty  thousand  francs  in  shares  to  bearer.  The 
rest  of  his  fortune  which  amounted  to  about  two  hun- 
dred and  seventy  thousand  francs,  standing  in  his  own 
name  in  the  same  funds,  gave  him  ostensibly  an  income 
of  fifteen  thousand  francs  a  3ear.  He  made  the  same 
disposition  of  Ursula's  little  capital  bequeathed  to  her 
by  de  Jord}',  together  with  the  accrued  interest  thereon, 
which  gave  her  about  fourteen  hundred  francs  a  year  in 
her  own  right.  La  Bougival,  who  had  laid  by  some 
five  thousand  francs  of  her  savings,  did  the  same  b}^  the 
doctor's  advice,  receiving  in  future  three  hundred  and 
fifty  francs  a  year  in  dividends.  These  judicious  trans- 
actions, agreed  on  between  the  doctor  and  Monsieur 
Bongrand,  were  carried  out  in  perfect  secrec}^  thanks 
to  the  political  troubles  of  the  time. 

When  quiet  was  again  restored  the  doctor  bought 
the  little  house  which  adjoined  his  own  and  pulled  it 
down  so  as  to  build  a  coach-house  and  stables  on  its 
site.  To  employ  a  capital  which  would  have  given  him 
a  thousand  francs  a  j'ear  on  outbuildings  seemed  actual 
folly  to  the  Minoret  heirs.  This  folly,  if  it  were  one, 
was  the  beginning  of  a  new  era  in  the  doctor's  exist- 
ence, for  he  now  (at  a  period  when  horses  and  carriages 
were  almost  given  away)  brought  back  from  Paris  three 
fine  horses  and  a  calèche. 

When,  in  the  early  part  of  November,  18.30,  the  old 
man  came  to  church  on  a  rainy  da}'  in  the  new  carriage, 


Ursula.  221 

and  gave  his  hand  to  Ursula  to  help  her  out,  all  the  in- 
habitants flocked  to  the  square,  —  as  much  to  see  the 
calèche  and  question  the  coachman,  as  to  criticise  the 
goddaughter,  to  whose  excessive  pride  and  ambition 
Massin,  Crémière,  the  post  master,  and  their  wives  at- 
tributed this  extravagant  foil}'  of  the  old  man. 

"  A  calèche  !  Hey,  Massin  !  "  cried  Goupil.  "Your 
inheritance  will  go  at  top  speed  now  !  " 

"  You  ought  to  be  getting  good  wages,  Cabirolle," 
said  the  post  master  to  the  son  of  one  of  his  conductors, 
who  stood  b}'  the  horses  ;  "  for  it  is  to  be  supposed  an 
old  man  of  eighty -four  won't  use  up  many  horse-shoes. 
What  did  those  horses  cost?" 

"  Four  thousand  francs.  The  calèche,  though  second- 
hand, was  two  thousand  ;  but  it 's  a  fine  one,  the  wheels 
are  patent." 

"Yes,  it's  a  good  carriage,"  said  Crémière;  "and 
a  man  must  be  rich  to  buy  that  style  of  thing." 

"Ursula  means  to  go  at  a  good  pace,"  said  Goupil. 
"She's  right;  she  is  showing  you  how  to  enjoy  life. 
Why  don't  you  have  fine  carriages  and  horses,  papa 
Minoret?  I  wouldn't  let  myself  be  humiliated  if  I 
were  you  —  I  'd  bu}'  a  carriage  fit  for  a  prince." 

"Come  Cabirolle,  tell  us,"  said  Massin,  "is  it  the 
girl  who  drives  our  uncle  into  such  luxury?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Cabirolle  ;  "  but  she  is  almost 
mistress  of  the  house.     There  are  masters  upon  masters 


222  Ursula. 

down  from  Paris.  They  say  now  she  is  going  to 
study   painting." 

"  Then  I  shall  seize  the  occasion  to  have  my  portrait 
drawn,"  said  Madame  Crémière. 

In  the  pi'ovinces  they  always  say  a  picture  is  drawn^ 
not  painted. 

"The  old  German  is  not  dismissed,  is  he?"  said 
Madame   Massin. 

"  He  was  there  j-esterda}',"  replied  CabiroUe. 

"Now,"  said  Goupil,  "you  may  as  well  give  up 
counting  on  your  inheritance.  Ursula  is  seventeen 
years  old,  and  she  is  prettier  than  ever.  Travel  forms 
3^oung  people,  and  the  little  minx  has  got  your  uncle  in 
the  toils.  Five  or  six  parcels  come  down  for  her  by 
the  diligence  ever}'  week,  and  the  dressmakers  and 
milliners  come  too,  to  tr}*  on  her  gowns  and  all  the  rest 
of  it.  Madame  Dionis  is  furious.  Watch  for  Ursula 
as  she  comes  out  of  church  and  look  at  the  little  scarf 
she  is  wearing  round  her  neck,  —  real  cashmere,  and  it 
cost  six  hundred   francs  !  " 

If  a  thunderbolt  had  fallen  in  the  midst  of  the  heirs 
the  effect  would  have  been  less  than  that  of  Goupil's 
last  VA'ords  ;  the  mischief-maker  stood  b}'  rubbing  his 
hands. 

The  doctor's  old  green  salon  had  been  renovated  by 
a  Parisian  upholsterer.  Judged  by  the  luxury  dis- 
played, he  was  sometimes  accused  of  hoarding  immense 


Ursula.  223 

wealth,  sometimes  of  spending  his  capital  on  Ursula. 
The  heirs  called  him  in  turn  a  miser  and  a  spendthrift, 
but  the  saying,  "  He  's  an  old  fool  !  "  summed  up,  on  the 
whole,  the  verdict  of  the  neighborhood.  These  mis- 
taken judgments  of  the  little  town  had  the  one  advan- 
tage of  misleading  the  heirs,  who  never  suspected  the 
love  between  Savinien  and  Ursula,  which  was  the  secret 
reason  of  the  doctor's  expenditure.  The  old  man  took 
the  greatest  delight  in  accustoming  his  god(îhild  to  her 
future  station  in  the  world.  Possessing  an  income  of 
over  fifty  thousand  francs  a  year,  it  gave  him  pleasure 
to  adorn  his  idol. 

In  the  month  of  February,  1832,  the  day  when  Ursula 
was  eighteen,  her  eyes  beheld  Savinien  in  the  uniform 
of  an  ensign  as  she  looked  from  her  window  when  she 
rose  in  the  morning. 

"  Why  did  n't  I  know  he  was  coming?"  she  said  to 
herself. 

After  the  taking  of  Algiers,  Savinien  had  distin- 
guished himself  b}'  an  act  of  courage  which  won  him 
the  cross.  The  corvette  on  which  he  was  serving  was 
many  months  at  sea  without  his  being  able  to  communi- 
cate witli  the  doctor  ;  and  he  did  not  wish  to  leave  the 
service  without  consulting  him.  Desirous  of  retaining 
in  the  navy  a  name  already  illustrious  in  its  service,  the 
new  government  had  profited  by  a  general  change  of 
officers  to  make  Savinien  an  ensign.     Havino;  obtained 


224  Ursula. 

leave  of  absence  for  fifteen  daj'S,  the  new  officer  arrived 
from  Toulon  b}'  tlie  mail,  in  time  for  Ursula's  fête,  in- 
tending to  consult  the  doctor  at  the  same  time. 

"  He  has  come  !  "  cried  Ursula  rushing  into  her  god- 
father's bedroom. 

"Very  good,"  he  answered;  "I  can  guess  what 
brings  him,  and  he  may  now  stay  in  Nemours." 

"  Ah  !  that 's  m}'  birthday  present  —  it  is  all  in  that 
sentence,"  she  said,  kissing  him. 

On  a  sign,  which  she  ran  up  tp  make  from  her  win- 
dow, Savinien  came  over  at  once  ;  she  longed  to  admire 
him,  for  he  seemed  to  her  so  changed  for  the  better. 
Military  service  does,  in  fact,  give  a  certain  grave  de- 
cision to  the  air  and  carriage  and  gestures  of  a  man, 
and  an  ei-ect  bearing  which  enables  the  most  superficial 
observer  to  recognize  a  military  man  even  in  plain 
clothes.  The  habit  of  command  produces  this  result. 
Ursula  loved  Savinien  the  better  for  it,  and  took  a 
childlike  pleasure  in  walking  round  the  garden  with 
him,  taking  his  arm,  and  hearing  him  relate  the  part  he 
pla3'ed  (as  midshipman)  in  the  taking  of  Algiers.  Evi- 
dently' Savinien  had  taken  the  city.  The  doctor,  who 
had  been  watching  them  from  his  window  as  he  dressed, 
aoon  came  down.  Witliout  telling  the  viscount  ever}'- 
thing,  he  did  say  tliat,  in  case  Madame  de  Portenduère 
consented  to  his  marriage  with  Ursula,  the  fortune  of 
his  godchild  would  make  his  naval  pa}'  superfluous. 


Ursula.  225 

"  Alas  !  "  said  Savinien.  "  It  will  take  a  great  deal 
of  time  to  overcome  ray  mother's  opposition.  Before  I 
left  her  to  enter  the  nav}'  she  was  placed  between  two 
alternatives,  —  either  to  consent  to  my  marrying  Ursula 
or  else  to  see  me  only  from  time  to  time  and  to  know 
me  exposed  to  the  dangers  of  the  profession  ;  and  you 
see  she  chose  to  let  me  go." 

"But,  Savinien,  we  shall  be  together/'  said  Ursula, 
taking  his  hand  and  shaking  it  with  a  sort  of 
impatience. 

To  see  each  other  and  not  to  part,  —  that  was  the  all 
of  love  to  her  ;  she  saw  nothing  beyond  it  ;  and  her 
prett}'  gesture  and  the  petulant  tone  of  her  voice  ex- 
pressed such  innocence  that  Savinien  and  the  doctor 
were  both  much  moved  b}'  it.  The  resignation  was 
written  and  despatched,  and  Ursula's  fête  received  full 
glory  from  the  presence  of  her  betrothed.  A  few 
months  later,  towards  the  month  of  Maj-,  the  home- 
life  of  the  doctor's  household  had  resumed  the  quiet 
tenor  of  its  way  but  with  one  welcome  visitor  the  more. 
The  attentions  of  the  30ung  viscount  were  soon  inter- 
preted in  the  town  as  those  of  a  future  husband,  —  all 
the  more  because  his  manners  and  those  of  Ursula, 
whether  in  church,  or  on  the  promenade,  though  dig- 
nified and  reserved,  betra3-ed  the  understanding  of 
their  hearts.  Dionis  pointed  out  to  the  heirs  that  the 
doctor  had  never  asked   Madame  de  Portenduère  for 

15 


226  Ursula. 

the  interest  of  his  money,   three  years  of  which  was 
now  due. 

"  She  '11  be  forced  to  yield,  and  consent  to  this  deroga- 
tory marriage  of  her  son,"  said  the  notary.  "  If  such  a 
misfortune  happens  it  is  probable  that  the  greater  part 
of  your  uncle's  fortune  will  serve  for  what  Basile  calls 
*  an  irresistible  argument.'  " 


Ursula.  227 


XIV. 

URSULA  AGAIN  ORPHANED. 

The  irritation  of  the  heirs,  when  convinced  that  their 
uncle  loved  Ursula  too  well  not  to  secure  her  happi- 
ness at  their  expense,  became  as  underhand  as  it  was 
bitter.  Meeting  in  Dionis's  salon  (as  they  had  done 
every  evening  since  the  revolution  of  1830)  the}-  in- 
veighed against  the  lovers,  and  seldom  separated  with- 
out discussing  some  way  of  circumventing  the  old  man. 
Zelie,  who  had  doubtless  profited  by  the  fall  in  the 
Funds,  as  the  doctor  had  done,  to  invest  some,  at  least, 
of  her  enormous  gains,  was  bitterest  of  them  all  against 
tlie  orphan  girl  and  the  Portenduères.  One  evening, 
when  Goupil,  who  usually  avoided  the  dulness  of  these 
meetings,  had  come  in  to  learn  something  of  the  affairs 
of  the  town  which  were  under  discussion,  ZéUe's  hatred 
was  freshly  excited  ;  she  had  seen  the  doctor,  Ursula, 
and  Savinien  returning  in  the  calèche  from  a  coiintr}- 
drive,  with  an  air  of  intimacy  that  told  all. 

"  I'd  give  thirt}'  thousand  francs  if  God  would  call 
uncle  to  himself  before  the  marriage  of  young  Por- 
tenduère  with  that  affected  minx  can  take  place,"  she 
said. 


228  Ursula. 

Goupil  accompanied  Monsieur  and  Madame  Minoret 
to  ttie  middle  of  their  great  court3'ard,  and  there  said, 
looking  round  to  see  if  they  were  quite  alone  : 

'  '  Will  you  give  me  the  means  of  buying  Dionis's 
practice?  If  you  will,  I  will  break  off  the  marriage 
between  Portenduère  and  Ursula." 

"  How?"  asked  the  colossus. 

"  Do  3"0u  think  I  am  such  a  fool  as  to  tell  3'ou  my 
plan?"  said  the  notar^-'s  head  clerk. 

"Well,  my  lad,  separate  them,  and  we'll  see  what 
we  can  do,"  said  Zélie. 

"I  don't  embark  in  any  such  business  on  a  'we'll 
see.'  The  young  man  is  a  fire-eater  M'ho  might  kill 
me  ;  I  ought  to  be  rough  shod  and  as  good  a  hand  with 
a  sword  or  a  pistol  as  he  is.  Set  me  up  in  business, 
and  I  '11  keep  ni}'  word." 

"Prevent  the  marriage  and  I  will  set  3'OU  up,"  said 
the   post  master. 

"  It  is  nine  months  since  3'oa  have  been  thinking  of 
lending  me  a  paltr3'  fifteen  thousand  francs  to  buv 
Lecœur's  pi'actice,  and  you  ex[)ect  me  to  trust  you 
now  !  Nonsense  ;  you  '11  lose  3-our  uncle's  propert3', 
and  serve  you  right." 

"If  it  were  onl3'  a  matter  of  fifteen  thousand  francs 
and  Lecœur's  practice,  that  might  be  managed,"  said 
Zélie  ;  "  but  to  give  securit3'  for  you  in  a  hundred  and 
fift3'  thousand  is  another  thing." 


Ursula.  229 

"  But  I  '11  do  m}'  part,"  said  Goupil  flinging  a  seduc- 
tive look  at  Zëlie,  whicli  encountered  the  imperious 
glance  of  the  post  mistress. 

The  effect  was  that  of  venom  on  steel. 

"  We  can  wait,"  said  Zélie. 

"  The  devil's  own  spirit  is  in  you,"  thought  Goupil. 
*'  If  I  ever  catch  that  pair  in  ra^'  power,"  he  said  to 
himself  as  he  left  the  yard,  "I'll  squeeze  them  like 
lemons." 

By  cultivating  the  society  of  the  doctor,  the  abbé, 
and  Monsieur  Bongrand,  Savinien  proved  the  excel- 
lence of  his  character.  The  love  of  this  3'oung  man  for 
Ursula,  so  devoid  of  all  self-interest,  and  so  persistent, 
interested  the  tliree  friends  deeph-,  and  thej'  now  never 
separated  the  lovers  m  their  thoughts.  Soon  the  mon- 
otony of  this  patriarchal  life,  and  the  certainty'  of  a 
future  before  them,  gave  to  their  affection  a  fraternal 
character.  The  doctor  often  left  the  pair  alone  together. 
He  judged  the  ^oung  man  riglitly  ;  he  saw  him  kiss  her 
hand  on  arriving,  but  he  knew  he  would  ask  no  kiss 
when  alone  with  her,  so  deeply  did  the  lover  respect 
the  innocence,  the  fi-ankness  of  the  young  girl,  whose 
excessive  sensibilité',  often  tried,  taught  him  tliat  a 
harsh  word,  a  cold  look,  or  the  alternations  of  gentle- 
ness and  roughness  might  kill  her.  The  onl}'  freedoms 
between  the  two  took  place  before  the  eyes  of  the  old 
man  in  the  evenings. 


230  Ursula. 

Two  years,  full  of  secret  happiness,  passed  thus, — 
without  other  events  than  the  fruitless  efforts  made  by 
the  young  man  to  obtain  from  his  mother  her  consent 
to  his  marriage.  He  talked  to  her  sometimes  for  hours 
together.  She  listened  and  made  no  answer  to  his 
entreaties,  other  than  by  Breton  silence  or  a  positive 
denial. 

At  nineteen  3'ears  of  age  Ursula,  elegant  in  appear- 
ance, a  fine  musician,  and  well  brought  up,  had  nothing 
more  to  learn  ;  she  was  perfected.  The  fame  of  her 
beauty  and  grace  and  education  spread  far.  The  doc- 
tor was  called  upon  to  decline  the  overtures  of  Madame 
d'Aigiemont,  wh'o  was  thinking  of  Ursula  for  her  eldest 
son.  Six  months  later,  in  spite  of  the  secrec}'  the  doc- 
tor and  Ursula  maintained  on  this  subject,  Savinien 
heard  of  it.  Touched  by  so  much  delicacy,  he  made 
use  of  the  incident  in  another  attempt  to  vanquish  his 
mother's  obstinac}'  ;  but  she  merelj'  replied  :  — 

"  If  the  d'Aiglemonts  choose  to  ally  themselves  ill, 
is  that  any  reason  why  we  should  do  so?" 

In  December,  1834,  the  kind  and  now  truly  pious  old 
doctor,  then  eighty-eight  3'ears  old,  declined  visiljlj*. 
When  seen  out  of  doors,  his  face  pinched  and  wan  and 
his  eyes  pale,  all  the  town  talked  of  his  approaching 
death.  "You'll  soon  know  results,"  said  the  com- 
munit}'  to  the  heirs.  In  truth  the  old  man's  death  had 
all  the  attraction  of  a  problem.     But  the  doctor  himself 


Ursula.  231 

did  not  know  he  was  ill  ;  he  had  his  illusions,  and 
neither  poor  Ursula  nor  Savinien  nor  Bongraud  nor 
the  abbé  were  willing  to  enlighten  him  as  to  his  condi- 
tion. The  Nemours  doctor  who  came  to  see  him  ever}- 
evening  did  not  venture  to  prescribe.  Old  Minoret  felt 
no  pain  ;  his  lamp  of  life  was  gently  going  out.  His 
mind  continued  Arm  and  clear  and  powerful.  In  old 
men  thus  constituted  the  soul  governs  the  body,  and 
gives  it  strength  to  die  erect.  The  abbé,  anxious  not 
to  hasten  the  fatal  end,  released  his  parishioner  from 
the  dut}'  of  hearing  mass  in  church,  and  allowed  him 
to  read  the  services  at  home,  for  the  doctor  faithfully' 
attended  to  all  his  religious  duties.  The  nearer  he 
came  to  the  grave  the  more  he  loved  God  ;  the  lights 
eternal  shone  upon  all  difficulties  and  explained  them 
more  and  more  clearly  to  his  mind.  Early  in  the  3'ear 
Ursula  persuaded  him  to  sell  the  carriage  and  horses 
and  dismiss  Cabirolle.  Monsieur  Bongraud,  whose  un- 
easiness about  Ursula's  future  was  far  from  quieted  by 
the  doctor's  half-confidence,  boldlj'  opened  the  subject 
one  evening  and  showed  his  old  friend  the  importance 
of  making  Ursula  legall}'  of  age.  Still  the  old  man, 
though  he  had  often  consulted  the  justice  of  peace, 
would  not  reveal  to  him  the  secret  of  his  provision  for 
Ursula,  though  he  agreed  to  the  necessity  of  securing 
her  independence  by  majority.  The  more  Monsieur 
Bongraud  persisted  in  his  efforts  to  discover  the  means 


232  Ursula. 

selected  by  his  old  friend  to  provide  for  his  darling  the 
more  war}-  the  doctor  became. 

"  Wh}'  not  secure  the  thing,"  said  Bougrand,  "  why 
run  an}-  risks  ?  " 

"  When  y  on  are  between  two  risks,"  replied  the 
doctor,   "  avoid  the  most  risk}-." 

Bongrand  carried  through  the  business  of  making 
Ursula  of  age  so  promptly  that  the  papers  were  ready 
by  the  da}-  she  was  twenty.  That  anniversary  was  the 
last  pleasure  of  the  old  doctor  who,  seized  perhaps  with 
a  presentiment  of  his  end,  gave  a  little  ball,  to  which  he 
invited  all  the  young  people  in  the  families  of  Diouis, 
Crémière,  Minoret,  and  Massin.  Savinien,  Bongrantl, 
the  abbé  and  his  two  assistant  priests,  the  Nemours 
doctor,  and  Mesdames  Zélie  Minoret,  Massin,  and  Cié- 
mière,  together  with  old  Schmucke,  were  the  guests  at 
a  grand  dinner  which  preceded  the  ball. 

"  I  feel  I  am  going,"  said  the  old  man  to  the  notav}- 
towards  the  close  of  the  evening.  "  I  beg  you  to  come 
to-morrow  and  draw  up  m}'  guardianship  account  with 
Ursula,  so  as  not  to  complicate  my  own  property  after 
my  death.  Thank  God  !  I  have  not  withdrawn  one 
penny  from  ni}'  heirs, — I  have  disposed  of  nothing  but 
my  income.  Messieurs  Crémière,  Massin,  and  Minoret 
my  nephew  are  members  of  the  famil}'  council  ap- 
pointed for  Ursula,  and  I  wish  them  to  be  present  at  the 
rendering  of  my  account." 


Urmla.  233 

These  words,  heard  by  Massin  and  quickly  passed 
from  one  to  another  round  the  ball-room,  poured  balm 
into  the  minds  of  the  three  families,  who  had  lived  in 
perpetual  alternations  of  hope  and  fear,  sometimes 
thinking  they  were  certain  of  wealth,  oftener  that  they 
were  disinherited. 

When,  about  two  in  the  morning,  the  guests  were  all 
gone  and  no  one  remained  in  the  salon  but  Savinien, 
Bongrand,  and  the  abbé,  the  old  doctor  said,  pointing 
to  Ursula,  who  was  charming  in  her  ball  dress:  "To 
you,  my  friends,  I  confide  her  !  A  few  days  more, 
and'I  shall  be  here  no  longer  to  protect  her.  Put  your- 
selves between  her  and  the  world  until  she  is  married, 
—  I  fear  for  her." 

The  words  made  a  painful  impression.  The  guard- 
ian's account,  rendered  a  day  or  two  later  in  presence 
of  the  family  council,  showed  that  Doctor  Minoret  owed 
a  balance  to  his  ward  of  ten  thousand  six  hundred 
francs  from  the  bequest  of  Monsieur  de  Jordy,  and  also 
from  a  little  capital  of  gifts  made  hy  the  doctor  himself 
to  Ursula  during  the  last  fifteen  years,  on  birthdays  and 
other  anniversaries. 

This  formal  rendering  of  the  account  was  insisted  on 
by  the  justice  of  the  peace,  who  feared  (unhappily,  with 
too  much  reason)  the  results  of  Doctor  Minoret's  death. 

The  following  da}'  the  old  man  was  seized  with  a 
weakness   which  compelled  him  to  keep  his  bed.     In 


234  Ursula. 

spite  of  the  reserve  which  always  surrounded  the  doc- 
tor's house  and  kept  it  from  observation,  the  news  of 
his  approaching  death  spread  through  the  town,  and  the 
heirs  began  to  run  hither  and  thither  through  the  streets, 
like  the  pearls  of  a  chaplet  when  the  string  is  broken. 
Massin  called  at  the  house  to  learn  the  truth,  and  was 
told  by  Ursula  herself  that  the  doctor  was  in  bed.  The 
Nemours  doctor  had  remarked  that  whenever  old  Mino- 
ret  took  to  his  bed  he  would  die  ;  and  therefore  in  spite 
of  the  cold,  the  heirs  took  their  stand  in  the  street,  on 
the  square,  at  their  own  doorsteps,  talking  of  the  event 
so  long  looked  for,  and  watchnig  for  the  moment  when 
the  priests  should  appear,  bearing  the  sacrament,  with 
all  the  paraphernalia  customar}^  in  the  i)rovinces,  to  the 
dying  man.  Accordingly,  two  days  later,  when  the 
Abbé  Chaperon,  with  an  assistant  and  the  choir-boj's, 
preceded  by  the  sacristan  bearing  the  cross,  passed 
along  the  Grand'Rue,  all  the  heirs  joined  the  proces- 
sion, to  get  an  entrance  to  the  house  and  see  that  noth- 
ing was  abstracted,  and  laj'  their  eager  hands  upon  its 
coveted  treasures  at  the  earliest  moment. 

When  the  doctor  saw,  behind  the  clerg}',  the  row  of 
kneeling  heirs,  who  instead  of  praying  were  looking  at 
him  with  eyes  that  were  brighter  than  the  tapers,  he 
could  not  restrain  a  smile.  The  abbé  turned  round, 
saw  them,  and  continued  to  say  the  prayers  slowl}'. 
The  post  master  was  the  first  to  abandon  the  kneeling 


Ursula.  235 

posture  ;  his  wife  followed  him.  Massin,  fearing  that 
Zélie  and  her  husband  might  lay  hands  on  some  orna- 
ment, joined  them  in  the  salon,  where  all  the  heirs  were 
presently  assembled  one  by  one. 

"  He  is  too  honest  a  man  to  steal  extreme  unction," 
said  Crémière  ;  "  we  may  be  sure  of  his  death  now." 

"  Yes,  we  shall  each  get  about  twenty  thousand 
francs  a  year,"  replied  Madame  Massin. 

"  I  have  an  idea,"  said  Zélie,  "  that  for  the  last  three 
years  he  has  n't  invested  anything  —  he  grew  fond  of 
hoarding." 

"Perhaps  the  money  is  in  the  cellar,"  whispered 
Massin  to  Crémière. 

"  I  hope  we  shall  be  able  to  find  it,"  said  Minoret- 
Levrault. 

"  But  after  what  he  said  at  the  ball  we  can't  have 
any  doubt,"  cried  Madame  Massin. 

"  In  any  case,"  began  Crémière,  "  how  shall  we 
manage  ?  Shall  we  divide  ;  shall  we  go  to  law  ;  or  could 
we  draw  lots?     We  are  adults,  you  know  —  " 

A  discussion,  which  soon  became  angry,  now  arose 
as  to  the  method  of  procedure.  At  the  end  of  half  an 
hour  a  perfect  uproar  of  voices,  Zélie's  screeching  organ 
detaching  itself  from  the  rest,  resounded  in  the  court- 
yard  and  even  in  the   street. 

The  noise  reached  the  doctor's  ears  ;  he  heard  the 
words,   "The  house — the  house  is  worth  thirty  thou- 


286  Ursula. 

sand  francs.  I  '11  take  it  at  that,"  said,  or  rather 
bellowed  b}'  Crémière. 

"Well,  we'll  take  what  it's  worth,"  said  Zélie, 
sharply. 

''Monsieur  l'abbé,"  said  the  old  man  to  the  priest, 
who  remained  beside  his  friend  after  administering  the 
communion,  "■  help  me  to  die  in  peace.  My  heirs,  like 
those  of  Cardinal  Ximenes,  are  capable  of  pillaging  the 
house  before  my  death,  and  I  have  no  monkey  to  revive 
me.  Go  and  tell  them  I  will  have  none  of  them  in  my 
house." 

The  priest  and  the  doctor  of  the  town  went  down- 
stairs and  repeated  the  message  of  the  dying  man,  add- 
ing, in  their  indignation,  strong  words  of  their  own. 

"  Madame  Bougival,"  said  the  doctor,  "  close  the 
iron  gate  and  allow  no  one  to  enter  ;  even  the  dying,  it 
seems,  can  have  no  peace.  Prepare  mustard  poultices 
and  apply  them  to  the  soles  of  Monsieur's  feet." 

"  Your  uncle  is  not  dead,"  said  the  abbé,  "  and  he 
ma}'  live  some  time  longer.  He  wishes  for  absolute 
silence,  and  no  one  beside  him  but  his  niece.  What  a 
difference  between  the  conduct  of  that  young  girl  and 
yours  !  " 

"Old  hypocrite!"  exclaimed  Crémière.  "I  shall 
keep  watch  of  him.  It  is  possible  he  's  plotting  some- 
thing against  our  interests." 

The  post  master   had  already  disappeared  into  the 


Ursula.  237 

garden,  intending  to  watch  there  and  wait  his  chance 
to  be  admitted  to  the  house  as  an  assistant.  He  now 
returned  to  it  very  softly-,  his  boots  making  no  noise, 
for  there  were  carpets  on  the  stairs  and  corridors.  He 
was  able  to  reach  the  door  of  his  uncle's  room  without 
being  heard.  The  abbé  and  the  doctor  hud  left  the 
house  ;   La  Bougival  was  making  the  poultice. 

"Are  we  quite  alone?"  said  the  old  man  to  his 
godchild. 

Ursula  stood  on  tiptoe  and  looked  into  the  court- 
yard. 

"Yes,"  she  said;  "the  abbé  has  just  closed  the 
gate  after  him." 

"  M}'  darling  child,"  said  the  dying  man,  "  my  hours, 
my  minutes  even,  are  counted.  I  have  not  been  a 
doctor  for  nothing  ;  I  shall  not  last  till  evening.  Do 
not  cry,  m}'  Ursula,"  he  said,  fearing  to  be  interrupted 
by  his  godchild's  weeping,  "  but  listen  to  me  carefully  ; 
it  concerns  your  marriage  to  Savinien.  As  soon  as  La 
Bougival  comes  back  go  down  to  the  pagoda,  —  here  is 
the  key,  —  lift  the  marble  top  of  the  Boule  buffet  and 
3'ou  will  find  a  letter  beneath  it,  sealed  and  addressed 
to  you  ;  take  it  and  come  back  here,  for  I  cannot  die 
easy  unless  1  see  it  in  your  hands.  When  I  am  dead 
do  not  let  any  one  know  of  it  immediatel}-,  but  send  for 
IMonsieur  de  Portenduère  ;  read  the  letter  together  ; 
swear  to  me  now,  in  his  name  and  your  own,  that  you 


238  Ursula. 

will  carry  out  my  last  wishes.  When  Savinien  has 
obeyed  me,  then  announce  m}'  death,  hut  not  till  then. 
The  comedy  of  the  heirs  will  begin.  God  grant  those 
monsters  may  not  ill-treat  you." 

"  Yes,  godfather." 

The  post  master  did  not  listen  to  the  end  of  this 
scene  ;  he  slijjped  away  on  tip-toe,  remembering  that 
the  lock  of  the  study  was  on  the  libraiy  side  of  the 
door.  He  had  been  present  in  former  days  at  an  argu- 
ment between  the  architect  and  a  locksmith,  the  latter 
declaring  that  if  the  pagoda  were  entered  by  the  win- 
dow on  the  river  it  would  be  much  safer  to  put  the  lock 
of  the  door  opening  into  the  library  on  the  librar}'  side. 
Dazzled  by  his  hopes,  and  his  ears  flushed  with  blood, 
Minoret  sprang  the  lock  with  the  point  of  his  knife  as 
rapidl}'  as  a  burglar  could  have  done  it.  He  entered  the 
study,  followed  the  doctor's  directions,  took  the  package 
of  papers  without  opening  it,  relocked  the  door,  put 
everything  in  order,  and  went  into  the  dining-room  and 
sat  down,  waiting  till  La  Bougival  had  gone  upstairs 
with  the  poultice  before  he  ventured  to  leave  the  house. 
He  then  made  his  escape,  —  all  the  more  easilj'  because 
poor  Ursula  lingered  to  see  that  La  Bougival  applied 
the  poultice  properl}'.' 

"The  letter!  the  letter!"  cried  the  old  man,  in  a 
dying  voice.  "Obey  me;  take  the  ke3\  I  must  see 
3-ou  with  that  letter  in  your  hand." 


Ursula.  239 

The  -words  were  said  with  so  wild  a  look   that   La 
Bougival  exclaimed  to  Ursula  :  — 

"  Do  what  he  asks  at  once  or  you  will  kill  him." 
She  kissed  his  forehead,  took  the  ke}-  and  went  down. 
A  moment  after,  recalled  by  a  cry  from  La  Bougival, 
she  ran  back.  The  old  man  looked  at  her  eagerl}'. 
Seeing  her  hands  empt}',  he  rose  in  his  bed,  tried  to 
speak,  and  died  with  a  horrible  gasp,  liis  eyes  haggard 
with  fear.  The  poor  girl,  who  saw  death  for  the  first 
time,  fell  on  her  knees  and  burst  into  tears.  La  Bou- 
gival closed  the  old  man's  eyes  and  straightened  him 
on  the  bed  ;  then  she  ran  to  call  Savinien  ;  but  the  heirs, 
who  stood  at  the  corner  of  the  street,  like  crows  watch- 
ing till  a  horse  is  buried  before  the}'  scratch  at  the 
ground  and  turn  it  over  with  beak  and  claw,  flocked  in 
with  the  celerity  of  birds  of  prey. 


240  Ursula, 

XV. 

THE  DOCTOR'S  WILL. 

While  these  events  were  taking  place  the  post  mas- 
ter had  hurried  home  to  open  the  mysterious  package 
and  know  its  contents. 

To   MY  DEAR  Ursula  Mirooet,  daughter  op  my    natural 

HALF-BROTHER,  JoSEPH  MiROUET,  AND  DiNAH  GrOLLMAN  : 

My  dear  Angel,  —  The  fatherly  affection  I  bear  you  — 
and  which  you  have  so  fully  justified  —  came  not  only  from 
the  promise  I  gave  your  father  to  take  his  place,  but  also 
from  your  resemblance  to  my  wife,  Ursula  jNIirouët,  whose 
grace,  intelligence,  frankness,  and  charm  you  constantly  re- 
call to  my  mind.  Your  position  as  the  daughter  of  a  natural 
son  of  my  father-in-law  might  invalidate  all  testamentary 
bequests  made  by  me  in  your  favor  — 

"  The  old  rascal  !  "  cried  the  post  master. 

Had  I  adopted  you  the  result  might  also  have  been  a  law- 
suit, and  I  shrank  from  the  idea  of  transmitting  my  fortune 
to  you  by  marriage,  for  1  might  live  years  and  thus  interfere 
with  your  happiness,  which  is  now  delayed  only  by  Madame 
de  Portenduère.  Having  weighed  these  difficulties  carefully, 
and  wishing  to  leave  you  enough  money  to  secure  to  you  a 
prosperous  existence  — 

"  The  scoundrel,  he  has  thought  of  everything  I  " 
—  without  injuring  my  heirs  — 


Ursula.  241 

"  The  Jesuit  !  as  if  he  did  not  owe  us  ever}'  penny  of 
his  mone}'  !  " 

—  I  intend  you  to  have  the  savings  f  rona  my  income  which 
I  have  for  the  last  eighteen  years  steadily  invested,  by  the 
help  of  my  notary,  seeking  to  make  you  thereby  as  happy  as 
any  one  can  be  made  by  riches.  Without  means,  your  edu- 
cation and  your  lofty  ideas  would  cause  you  unhappiness. 
Besides,  you  ought  to  bring  a  liberal  dowry  to  the  fine  young 
man  who  loves  you.  You  will  therefore  find  in  the  middle 
of  the  third  volume  of  Pandects,  folio,  bound  in  red  morocco 
(the  last  volume  on  the  first  shelf  above  the  little  table  in  the 
library,  on  the  side  of  the  room  next  the  salon),  three  certifi- 
cates of  Funds  in  the  three-per-cents,  made  out  to  bearer, 
each  amounting  to  twelve  thousand  francs  a  year  — 

"  What  depths  of  wickedness!  "  screamed  the  post 
master.  "  Ah  !  God  would  not  permit  me  to  be  so 
defrauded." 

Take  these  at  once,  and  also  some  uninvested  savings  made 
to  this  date,  which  you  will  find  in  the  preceding  volume. 
Remember,  my  darling  child,  that  you  must  obey  a  wish  that 
has  made  the  happiness  of  my  whole  life;  a  wish  that  will 
force  me  to  ask  the  intervention  of  God  should  you  disobey 
me.  But,  to  guard  against  all  scruples  in  your  dear  conscience 
—  for  I  well  know  how  ready  it  is  to  torture  you  — you  will 
find  herewith  a  will  in  due  form  bequeathing  these  certifi- 
cates to  Monsieur  Savinien  de  Portenduère.  So,  whetlier 
you  possess  them  in  your  own  name,  or  whether  they  come 
to  you  from  him  you  love,  they  will  be,  in  every  sense,  your 
legitimate  property. 

Your  godfather, 

Denis  Minoret. 
16 


242  Ursula. 

To  this  letter  was  annexed  the  following  paper 
written  on  a  sheet  of  stamped  paper. 

This  is  my  will  :  I,  Denis  Minoret,  doctor  of  medicine, 
settled  in  Nemours,  being  of  sound  mind  and  body,  as  the 
date  of  this  document  will  show,  do  bequeath  my  soul  to 
God,  imploring  him  to  pardon  my  errors  in  view  of  my 
sincere  repentance.  Next,  having  found  in  Monsieur  le 
Vicomte  Savinien  de  Portenduère  a  true  and  honest  affec- 
tion for  me,  I  bequeath  to  him  the  sum  of  thirty-six  thou- 
sand francs  a  year  from  the  Funds,  at  three  per  cent,  the 
said  bequest  to  take  precedence  of  all  inheritance  accruing 
to  my  heirs. 

Written  by  my  own  hand,  at  Nemours,  on  the  11th  of 
January,  1831. 

Denis  Minoret. 

Without  an  instant's  hesitation  the  post  master,  who 
had  locked  himself  into  his  wife's  bedroom  to  insure 
being  alone,  looked  about  for  the  tinder-box,  and  re- 
ceived two  warnings  from  heaven  b}^  the  extinction 
of  two  matches  w^hich  obstinately  refused  to  light. 
The  third  took  fire.  He  burned  the  letter  and  the  will 
on  the  hearth  and  buried  the  vestiges  of  paper  and 
sealing-wax  in  the  ashes  by  wa}'  of  superfluous  caution. 
Then,  allured  by  the  thought  of  possessing  thirty-six 
thousand  francs  a  year  of  which  his  wife  knew  nothing, 
he  returned  at  full  speed  to  his  uncle's  house,  spurred 
by  the  only  idea,  a  clear-cut,  simple  idea,  which  was 
able  to  pierce  and  penetrate  his  dull  brain.     Finding 


Ursula.  243 

the  house  invaded  by  the  three  famiUes,  now  masters  of 
the  place,  he  trembled  lest  he  should  be  unable  to  ac- 
complish a  project  to  which  he  gave  no  reflection  what- 
ever, except  so  far  as  to  fear  the  obstacles. 

"  What  are  3'ou  doing  here?  "  he  said  to  Massin  and 
Crémière.  "  We  can't  leave  the  house  and  the  prop- 
ert}'  to  be  pillaged.  We  are  the  heirs,  but  we  can't 
camp  here.  You,  Crémière,  go  to  Dioms  at  once  and 
tell  him  to  come  and  certify  to  the  death  ;  I  can't  draw 
up  the  mortuary  certificate  for  an  uncle,  though  I  am 
assistant-ma^'or.  You,  Massin,  go  and  ask  old  Bon- 
gi-and  to  attach  the  seals.  As  for  you,  ladies,"  he 
added,  turning  to  his  wife  and  Mesdames  Crémière 
and  Massin,  "  go  and  look  after  Ursula  ;  then  nothing 
can  be  stolen.  Above  all,  close  the  iron  gate  and  don't 
let  any  one  leave  the  house." 

The  women,  who  felt  the  justice  of  this  remark,  ran 
to  Ursula's  bedroom,  where  thej-  found  the  noble  girl,  so 
cruelly  suspected,  on  her  knees  before  God,  her  face 
covered  with  tears.  Minoret,  suspecting  that  the 
women  would  not  long  remain  with  Ursula,  went  at 
once  to  the  library,  found  the  volume,  opened  it,  took 
the  three  certificates,  and  found  in  the  other  volume 
about  thirty  bank  notes.  In  si)ite  of  his  brutal  nature 
the  colossus  felt  as  though  a  peal  of  bells  were  ringing 
in  each  ear.  Tiie  blood  whistled  in  his  temples  as  he 
committed  the  theft  ;  cold  as  the  weather  was,  his  shirt 


244  Ursula. 

was  wet  on  his  back  ;  his  legs  gave  wa}'  under  him  and 
he  fell  into  a  chair  in  the  salon  as  if  an  axe  had  fallen 
on  his  head. 

"  How  the  inheritance  of  money  loosens  a  man's 
tongue!  Did  3-ou  hear  Minoret?"  said  Massin  to 
Crémière  as  they  hurried  through  the  town.  "  '  Go 
here,  go  there,'  just  as  if  he  knew  everything." 

"  Yes,  for  a  dull  beast  like  him  he  had  a  certain 
air  of — " 

"  Stop  !  "  said  Massin,  alarmed  at  a  sudden  thought. 
"  His  wife  is  there  ;  the}'  've  got  some  plan  !  Do  you 
do  both  errands  ;  I  '11  go  back." 

Just  as  the  post  master  fell  into  tlie  chair  he  saw  at 
the  gate  the  heated  face  of  the  clerk  of  the  court  who 
returned  to  the  house  of  death  with  the  céleri tj-  of  a- 
weasel. 

"  Well,  what  is  it  now?"  asked  the  post  master,  un- 
locking the  gate  for  his  co-heir. 

"Nothing;  I  have  come  back  to  be  present  at  the 
sealing,"  answered  Massin,  giving  him  a  savage  look. 

"  I  wish  those  seals  were  alread}'  on,  so  that  we 
could  go  home,"   said  Minoret. 

"We  shall  have  to  put  a  watcher  over  them,"  said 
Massin.  "  La  Bougival  is  capable  of  anything  in  the 
interests  of  that  minx.     We  '11  put  Goupil  there." 

"  Goupil  !  "  said  the  post  master  ;  "  put  a  rat  in  the 
meal  !  " 


Ursula.  245 

"  Well,  let 's  consider,"  returned  Massin.  "To-night 
they  '11  watch  the  body  ;  the  seals  can  be  affixed  in  an 
hour;  our  wives  could  look  after  them.  To-morrow 
we  '11  have  the  funeral  at  twelve  o'clock.  But  the  In- 
ventory can't  be  made  under  a  week." 

"Let's  get  rid  of  that  girl  at  once,"  said  the 
colossus;  "  then  we  can  safely  leave  the  watchman  of 
the  town-hall  to  look  after  the  house  and  the  seals." 

"  Good,"  cried  Massin.  "  You  must  manage  it;  you. 
are  the  head  of  the  Minoret  family." 

"  Ladies,"  said  Minoret,  "  be  good  enough  to  sta}'  in 
the  salon  ;  we  can't  think  of  dinner  to-day  ;  the  seals 
must  be  put  on  at  once  for  the  security  of  all  interests." 

He  took  his  wife  apart  and  told  her  Massin's  propo- 
sal about  Ursula.  The  women,  whose  hearts  were  full 
of  vengeance  against  the  minx,  as  they  called  her, 
hailed  tlie  idea  of  turning  her  out.  Bongi'and  arrived 
with  his  assistants  to  apply  the  seals,  and  was  indig- 
nant when  the  request  was  made  to  him,  by  Zelie  and 
Madame  Massin,  as  a  near  friend  of  the  deceased,  to 
tell  Ursula  to  leave  the  house. 

"  Go  and  turn  her  out  of  her  father's  house,  her  bene- 
factor's house  yourselves,"  he  cried.  "Go!  you  who 
owe  3'our  inlieritance  to  the  generosity  of  her  soul  ; 
take  her  by  the  shoulders  and  fling  her  into  the  street 
before  the  eyes  of  the  whole  town  1  You  think  her 
capable  of  robbing  you?     Well,  appoint  a  watcher  of 


246  Ursula. 

the  seals  ;  )'ou  have  a  right  to  do  that.  But  I  tell  j'ou 
at  once  I  shall  put  no  seals  on  Ursula's  room  ;  she  has 
a  right  to  that  room,  and  everything  in  it  is  her  own 
property.  I  shall  tell  her  what  her  rights  are,  and  tell 
her  too  to  put  everything  that  belongs  to  her  in  this 
house  in  that  room —  Oh  !  in  your  presence,"  he  said, 
bearing  a  growl  of  dissatisfaction  among  the  heirs 

"  What  do  3'ou  think  of  that?  "  said  the  collector  to 
the  post  master  and  the  women,  who  seemed  stupefied 
by  the  angry  address  of  Bongrand. 

"  Call  him  a  magistrate  !  "  cried  the  post  master. 

Ursula  meanwhile  was  sitting  on  her  little  sofa  in  a 
half-fainting  condition,  her  head  thrown  back,  her  braids 
unfastened,  while  every  now  and  then  her  sobs  broke 
forth.  Her  eyes  were  dim  and  their  lids  swollen  ;  she 
was,  in  fact,  in  a  state  of  moral  and  physical  prostra- 
tion which  might  have  softened  the  hardest  hearts  — 
except  those  of  the  heirs. 

"  Ah  !  Monsieur  Bongrand,  after  my  happy  birthday 
comes  death  and  mourning,"  she  said,  wilh  the  poetry 
natural  to  her.  "  You  know,  you.,  what  he  was.  In 
twent}'  years  he  never  said  an  impatient  word  to  me. 
I  believed  he  would  live  a  hundred  years.  He  has 
been  my  mother,"  she  cried,  "  my  good,  kind  mother." 

These  simple  thoughts  brought  torrents  of  tears 
from  her  eyes,  interrupted  by  sobs  ;  then  she  fell  back 
exhausted. 


Ursula.  247 

"  M3'  child,"  said  tlie  justice  of  peace,  hearing  the 
heirs  on  the  staircase.  "  You  have  a  lifetime  before 
3*ou  in  which  to  weep,  but  3'ou  have  now  onh'  a  moment 
to  attend  to  your  interests.  Gather  everything  that 
belongs  to  3'ou  in  this  house  and  put  it  into  j'our  own 
room  at  once.  The  heirs  insist  on  my  affixing  the 
seals." 

"  Ah  !  his  heirs  may  take  everything  if  the}'  choose," 
cried  Ursula,  sitting  upright  under  an  impulse  of  savage 
indignation.  "  I  have  something  here,"  she  added, 
striking  her  breast,  "  which  is  far  more  precious  — " 

"  What  is  it?  "  said  the  post  master,  who  with  Massin 
at  his  heels  now  showed  his  brutal  face. 

"The  remembrance  of  his  virtues,  of  his  hfe,  of  his 
words  —  an  image  of  his  celestial  soul,"  she  said,  hei 
eyes  and  face  glowing  as  she  raised  her  hand  with  a 
glorious  gesture. 

"  And  a  kej'  !  "  cried  Massin,  creeping  up  to  her  like 
a  cat  and  seizing  a  key  which  fell  from  the  bosom  of  lier 
dress  in  her  sudden  movement. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  blushing,  "that  is  the  key  of  his 
study  ;  he  sent  me  there  at  the  moment  he  was  dying." 

The  two  men  glanced  at  each  otlier  with  horrid 
smiles,  and  then  at  Monsieur  Bongrand,  with  a  mean- 
ing look  of  degrading  suspicion.  Ursula  who  inter- 
cepted it,  rose  to  her  feet,  pale  as  if  the  blood  had  left 
her  bod}-.     Her  eyes  sent  forth  the  lightnings  tliat  per- 


248  Ursula. 

haps  can  issue  onl}'  at  some  cost  of  life,  as  slie  said  in 
a  cholcing  voice  :  — 

"  Monsieur  Bongrand,  every  tiling  in  this  room  is 
mine  through  the  kindness  of  my  godfather  ;  they  may 
take  it  all  ;  I  have  nothing  on  me  but  the  clothes  I 
wear.     I  shall  leave  the  house  and  never  return  to  it." 

She  went  to  her  godfather's  room,  and  no  entreaties 
could  make  her  leave  it,  —  the  heirs,  who  now  began  to 
"be  slightly  ashamed  of  their  conduct,  endeavoring  to 
persuade  her.  She  requested  Monsieur  Bongrand  to 
engage  two  room.s  for  her  at  the  "Vieille  Poste"  inn 
until  she  could  find  some  lodging  in  town  where  she 
could  live  with  La  Bougival.  She  returned  to  her  own 
room  for  her  prayer-book,  and  spent  the  night,  with  the 
abbé,  his  assistant,  and  Savinien,  in  weeping  and  pray- 
ing beside  her  uncle's  body.  Savinien  came,  after  his 
mother  had  gone  to  bed,  and  knelt,  without  a  word, 
beside  his  Ursula.  She  smiled  at  him  sadly,  and  thanked 
him  for  coming  faithfully  to  share  her  troubles. 

"  My  child,"  said  Monsieur  Bongiand,  bringing  her 
a  large  package,  "one  of  your  uncle's  heirs  has  taken 
these  necessary  articles  from  your  drawers,  for  the  seals 
cannot  be  opened  for  several  days  ;  after  that  you  will 
recover  everything  that  belongs  to  you.  I  have,  for 
3'our  own  sake,  placed  the  seals  on  your  room." 

"Thank  you,"  she  replied,  pressing  his  hand.  "  Look 
at  him  again,  —  he  seems  to  sleep,  does  he  not?  " 


Ursula.  249 

The  old  man's  face  wore  that  flower  of  fleeting  beauty 
which  rests  upon  the  features  of  the  dead  who  die  a 
painless  death  ;  light  appeared  to  radiate  from  it. 

"  Did  he  give  you  anything  secretly  before  he  died?" 
whispered  M.  Bongrand. 

"  Nothing,"  she  said  ;  "he  spoke  only  of  a  letter." 

"Good!  it  will  certainly  be  found,"  said  Bongrand. 
"  How  fortunate  for  you  that  the  heirs  demanded  the 
sealing." 

At  daybreak  Ursula  bade  adieu  to  the  house  whei-e 
her  happ3^  30uth  was  passed  ;  more  particularly,  to  the 
modest  chamber  in  which  her  love  began.  So  dear  to 
her  was  it  that  even  in  this  hour  of  darkest  grief  tears 
of  regret  rolled  down  her  face  for  the  dear  and  peaceful 
haven.  With  one  last  glance  at  Savinien's  windows 
she  left  the  room  and  the  house,  and  went  to  the  inn 
accompanied  by  La  Bougival,  who  carried  the  package, 
b^'  Monsieur  Bongrand,  who  gave  her  his  arm,  and  by 
Savinien,  her  true   protector. 

Thus  it  happened  that  in  spite  of  all  his  etforts  and 
cautions  the  worst  fears  of  the  justice  of  peace  were 
realized  ;  he  was  now  to  see  Ursula  without  means  and 
at  the  mercy  of  her  benefactor's  heirs. 

The  next  afternoon  the  whole  town  attended  the  doc- 
tor's funeral.  When  the  conduct  of  the  heirs  to  his 
adopted  daughter  was  publicly  kno\Yn,  a  vast  majority 
of  the   people  thought  it  natural  and   necessaiy.     An 


250  Ursula. 

inheritance  was  involved  ;  the  goodraan  was  known 
to  have  hoarded  ;  Ursula  might  think  she  had  rights  ; 
the  heirs  were  only  defending  their  property  ;  she  had 
humbled  them  enough  during  their  uncle's  lifetime,  for 
he  had  treated  them  like  dogs  and  sent  them  about 
their  business. 

Desire  Minoret,  who  was  not  going  to  do  wonders  in 
life  (so  said  those  who  envied  his  father),  came  down 
for  the  funeral.  Ursula  was  unable  to  be  present,  for 
she  was  in  bed  with  a  nervous  fever,  caused  partly 
by  the  insults  of  the  heirs  and  parti}'  hy  her  heavy 
affliction. 

"  Look  at  that  h^'pocrite  weeping,"  said  some  of  the 
heirs,  pointing  to  Savinien,  who  was  deepl}'  affected  by 
the  doctor's  death. 

"  The  question  is,"  said  Goupil,  "  has  he  any  good 
grounds  for  weeping.  Don't  laugh  too  soon,  my 
friends;  the  seals  are  not  yet  removed." 

"Pooh!"  said  Minoret,  who  had  good  reason  to 
know  the  truth,  "  30U  are  always  frightening  us  about 
nothing." 

As  the  funeral  procession  left  the  church  to  proceed 
to  the  cemetery,  a  bitter  mortification  was  inflicted  on 
Goupil;  he  tried  to  take  Desire's  arm,  but  the  latter 
withdrew  it  and  turned  away  from  his  former  comrade 
in  presence  of  all  Nemours. 

''I   won't  be  angry,   or   I   couldn't  get   revenge," 


Ursula.  251 

thought  the  notary's  clerk,  whose  dry  heart  swelled  in 
his  bosom  like  a  sponge. 

Before  breaking  the  seals  and  making  the  inventory, 
it  took  some  time  for  the  procureur  du  roi,  who  is  the 
legal  guardian  of  orphans,  to  commission  Monsieur 
Bongrand  to  act  in  his  place.  After  that  was  done  the 
settlement  of  the  Minoret  inheritance  (nothing  else 
being  talked  of  in  the  town  for  ten  da3's)  began  with  all 
the  legal  formalities.  Dionis  had  his  pickings  ;  Goupil 
enjoyed  some  mischief-making  ;  and  as  the  business 
was  profitable  the  sessions  were  man3^  After  the  first 
of  these  sessions  all  parties  breakfasted  together  ;  no- 
tary, clerk,  heirs,  and  witnesses  drank  the  best  wines 
in  the  doctor's  cellar. 

In  the  provinces,  and  especially  in  little  towns  where 
every  one  lives  in  his  own  house,  it  is  sometimes  very 
difficult  to  find  a  lodging.  When  a  man  buys  a  business 
of  any  kind  the  dwelling-house  is  almost  always  in- 
cluded in  the  purchase  Monsieur  Bongrand  saw  no 
other  wa}'  of  removin'g  Ursula  from  the  village  inn  than 
to  bu}'  a  small  house  on  the  Grand'Rue  at  the  corner 
of  the  bridge  over  the  Loing.  The  little  building  had  a 
front  door  opening  on  a  corridor,  and  one  room  on  the 
ground  floor  with  two  windows  on  the  street  ;  behind  this 
came  the  kitchen,  with  a  glass  door  opening  to  an  inner 
courtyard  about  thirt}'  feet  square.  A  small  staircase, 
lighted  on  the  side  towards  the  river  by  small  windows, 


252  Ursula. 

led  to  the  first  floor  where  there  were  three  chambers,  and 
above  these  were  two  attic  rooms.  Monsieur  Bongrand 
borrowed  two  thousand  francs  from  La  Bougival's  sav- 
ings to  pay  the  first  instalment  of  the  price,  —  six  thou- 
sand francs,  —  and  obtained  good  terms  for  pa^'ment 
of  the  rest.  As  Ursula  wished  to  buy  her  uncle's  books, 
Bongrand  knocked  down  the  partition  between  two 
rooms  on  the  bedroom  floor,  finding  that  their  united 
length  was  the  same  as  that  of  the  doctor's  librarj', 
and  gave  room  for  his  bookshelves. 

Savinien  and  Bongrand  urged  on  the  workmen  who 
were  cleaning,  painting,  and  otherwise  renewing  the 
tin}'  place,  so  that  before  the  end  of  March  Ursula  was 
able  to  leave  the  inn  and  take  up  her  abode  in  the  ugly 
house  ;  where,  however,  she  found  a  bedroom  exactly 
like  the  one  she  had  left  ;  for  it  was  filled  with  all  her 
furniture,  claimed  b}'  the  justice  of  peace  when  the  seals 
were  removed.  La  Bougival,  sleeping  in  the  attic, 
could  be  summoned  by  a  bell  placed  near  the  head  of 
the  3'oung  girl's  bed.  The  room  intended  for  the  books, 
the  salon  on  the  ground-floor  and  the  kitchen,  though  still 
unfurnished,  had  been  hung  with  fresh  papers  and  re- 
painted, and  only  awaited  the  purchases  which  the 
young  girl  hoped  to  make  when  her  godfather's  effects 
were  sold. 

Though  the  strength  of  Ursula's  character  was  well 
known  to  the  abbé  and  Monsieur  Bongrand,  they  both 


Ursula.  253 

feared  the  sudden  change  from  the  comforts  and  ele- 
gancies to  which  her  uncle  had  accustomed  her  to  this 
barren  and  denuded  life.  As  for  Savinien  he  wept  over 
it.  He  did,  in  fact,  make  priA'ate  paj-ments  to  the 
workman  and  to  the  upholsterer,  so  that  Ursula  should 
perceive  no  difference  between  the  new  chamber  and 
the  old  one.  But  the  3'oung  girl  herself,  whose  happi- 
ness now  la}'  in  Savinien's  own  eyes,  showed  the  gentlest 
resignation,  which  endeared  her  more  and  more  to  her 
two  old  friends,  and  proved  to  them  for  the  hundredth 
time  that  no  troubles  but  those  of  the  heart  could  make 
her  suffer.  The  grief  she  felt  for  the  loss  of  her  god- 
father was  far  too  deep  to  let  her  even  feel  the  bitter- 
ness of  her  change  of  fortune,  though  it  added  fresh 
obstacles  to  her  marriage.  Savinien's  distress  in  seeing 
her  thus  reduced  did  her  so  much  harm  that  she  whis- 
pered to  him,  as  they  came  from  mass  on  the  morning 
of  the  da}' when  she  first  went  to  live  in  her  new  house  : 

"Love  could  not  exist  without  patience;  let  us 
wait." 

As  soon  as  the  form  of  the  inventory  was  drawn  up, 
Massin,  advised  by  Goupil  (who  turned  to  him  under 
the  influence  of  his  secret  hatred  to  the  post  master), 
summoned  Monsieur  and  Madame  de  Portenduère  to 
pay  off  the  mortgage  which  had  now  elapsed,  together 
with  the  interest  accruing  thereon.  The  old  ladv  was 
bewildered   at   a   summons   to   pay  one   hundred    and 


254  Ursula. 

twent3^-nine  thousand  five  hundred  and  seventeen  francs 
within  twenty-four  hours  under  paui  of  an  execution  in 
her  house.  It  was  impossible  for  her  to  borrow  the 
nione}'.  Savinien  went  to  Fontainebleau  to  consult  a 
lawyer. 

"  You  are  dealing  with  a  bad  set  of  people  who  will 
not  compromise,"  was  the  lawj-er's  opinion.  "They 
intend  to  sue  in  the  matter  and  get  3'our  farm  at  Bor- 
dières.  The  best  way  for  you  would  be  to  make  a  vol- 
untary sale  of  it  and  so  escape  costs." 

This  dreadful  news  broke  down  the  old  lad}'.  Her 
son  very  gentl}'  pointed  out  to  her  that  had  she  con- 
sented to  his  marriage  in  Minoret's  life-time,  the  doctor 
would  have  left  his  propert}'  to  Ursula's  husband  and 
they  would  to-da}'  have  been  opulent  instead  of  being, 
as  they  now  were,  in  the  depths  of  povert}'.  Though 
said  without  reproach,  this  argument  annihilated  the 
poor  woman  even  more  than  the  thought  of  her  coming 
ejectment.  When  Ursula  heard  of  this  catastrophe  she 
was  stupefied  with  grief,  having  scarcel}'  I'ecovered  from 
her  fever,  and  the  blow  which  the  heirs  had  alread}' 
dealt  her.  To  love  and  be  unable  to  succor  the  man  she 
loves,  —  that  is  one  of  the  most  dreadful  of  all  sufferings 
to  the  soul  of  a  noble  and  sensitive  woman. 

"  I  wished  to  bu}'  my  uncle's  house,"  she  said,  "  now 
I  will  buy  your  mother's." 

"  Can  yon?  "  said  Savinien.     "  You  are  a  minor,  and 


Ursula.  t    255 

you  cannot  sell  out  your  Funds  without  formalities  to 
which  the  procureur  da  roi,  now  your  legal  guardian, 
would  not  agree.  We  shall  not  resist.  The  whole 
town  will  be  glad  to  see  the  discomfiture  of  a  noble 
family.  These  bourgeois  are  like  hounds  after  a  quarr}-. 
Fortunately,  I  still  have  ten  thousand  francs  left,  on 
which  I  can  support  m}'  mother  till  this  deplorable 
matter  is  settled.  Besides,  the  inventor}-  of  your 
godfather's  property-  is  not  yet  finished  ;  Monsieur  Bon- 
grand  still  thinks  he  shall  find  something  for  yon.  He 
is  as  much  astonished  as  I  am  that  you  seem  to  be  left 
without  fortune.  The  doctor  so  often  spoke  both  to 
him  and  to  me  of  tlie  future  he  had  prepared  for  you 
that  neither  of  us  can  understand  this  conclusion." 

"  Pooh  !  "  she  said  ;  "  so  long  as  I  can  buy  my  god- 
father's books  and  furniture  and  prevent  their  being 
dispersed,   I  am  content." 

"  But  who  knows  the  price  these  infamous  creatures 
will  set  on  anything  3-ou  want  ?  " 

Nothing  was  talked  of  from  Montargis  to  Fontaine- 
bleau but  the  million  for  which  the  Minoret  heirs  were 
searching.  But  the  most  minute  search  made  in  every^ 
corner  of  the  house  after  the  seals  were  removed, 
brought  no  discover}'.  The  one  hundred  and  twenty- 
nine  thousand  francs  of  the  Portenduere  debt,  the  capi- 
tal of  the  fifteen  thousand  a  year  in  the  three  per  cents 
(then  quoted  at  7G),the  house,  valued  at  forty  thousand 


256  Ursula. 

francs,  and  its  handsome  furniture,  produced  a  total  of 
about  six  hundred  thousand  francs,  which  to  most  per- 
sons seemed  a  comforting  sum.  But  what  had  become 
of  the  money  the  doctor  must  have  saved? 

Minoret  began  to  have  gnawing  anxieties.  La  Bou- 
gival  and  Savinien,  who  persisted  in  believing,  as  did 
the  justice  of  peace,  in  the  existence  of  a  will,  came 
every  day  at  the  close  of  each  session  to  find  out  from 
Bongrand  the  results  of  the  day's  search.  The  latter 
would  sometimes  exclaim,  before  the  agents  and  the 
heirs  were  fairl}'  out  of  hearing,  "  I  can't  understand 
the  thing  !  "  Bongrand,  Savinien,  and  the  abbé  often 
declared  to  each  other  that  the  doctor,  who  received  no 
interest  from  the  Portenduère  loan,  could  not  have  kept 
his  house  as  he  did  on  fifteen  thousand  francs  a  j'ear. 
This  opinion,  openl}'  expressed,  made  the  post  master 
turn  livid  more  than  once. 

"  Yet  they  and  I  have  rummaged  everywhere,"  said 
Bongrand,  —  "  they  to  find  money,  and  I  to  find  a  will 
in  favor  of  Monsieur  de  Portenduère.  The}'  have  sifted 
the  ashes,  lifted  the  marbles,  felt  of  the  slippers,  bored 
into  the  wood- work  of  the  beds,  emptied  the  mattresses, 
ripped  up  the  quilts,  turned  his  eider-down  inside-out, 
examined  every  inch  of  paper  piece  b}-  piece,  searched 
the  drawers,  dug  up  the  cellar  floor  —  and  I  have  urged 
on  their  devastations." 

"  What  do  you  think  about  it?  "  said  the  abbé. 


Ursula.  257 

"  The  will  has  been  suppressed  by  one  of  the  heirs." 

"  But  Where's  the  propert}'?" 

"  We  may  whistle  for  it  !  " 

"  Perhaps  the  will  is  hidden  in  the  library,"  said 
Savinien. 

"  Yes,  and  for  that  reason  I  don't  dissuade  Ursula 
from  buying  it.  If  it  were  not  for  that,  it  would  be 
absurd  to  let  her  put  every  penny  of  her  ready  money 
into  books  she  will  never  open." 

At  first  the  whole  town  believed  the  doctor's  niece 
had  got  possession  of  the  unfound  capital  ;  but  when  it 
was  known  positively  that  fourteen  hundred  francs  a 
year  and  her  gifts  constituted  her  whole  fortune  the 
search  of  the  doctor's  house  and  furniture  excited  a 
more  wide-spread  curiosity  than  before.  Some  said  the 
money  would  be  found  in  bank  bills  hidden  awa}'  in  the 
furniture,  others  that  the  old  man  had  slipped  them 
into  his  books.  The  sale  of  the  effects  exhibited  a 
spectacle  of  the  most  extraordinary  precautions  on  the 
part  of  the  heirs.  Dionis,  who  was  doing  duty  as 
auctioneer,  declared,  as  each  lot  was  cried  out,  that 
the  heirs  sold  only  the  article  (whatever  it  was)  and 
not  what  it  might  contain  ;  then,  before  allowing  it  to 
be  taken  awa}'  it  was  subjected  to  a  final  investigation, 
being  thumped  and  sounded  ;  and  when  at  last  it  left 
the  house  the  sellers  followed  with  the  looks  a  father 
might  cast  upon  a  son  who  was  starting  for  India. 

17 


258  Ursula. 

"Ah,  mademoiselle,"  cried  La  Bougival,  returning 
from  the  first  session  in  despair,  "  I  shall  not  go  again. 
Monsieur  Bongrand  is  right,  you  could  never  bear  the 
sight.  Everj-thing  is  ticketed.  All  the  town  is  coming 
and  going  just  as  in  the  street  ;  the  handsome  furni- 
ture is  being  ruined,  they  even  stand  upon  it  ;  tlie  whole 
place  is  such  a  muddle  that  a  hen  could  n't  find  her 
chicks.  You  'd  think  there  had  been  a  fire.  Lots  of 
things  are  in  the  court3ard  ;  the  closets  are  all  open, 
and  nothing  in  them.  Oh  !  the  poor  dear  man,  it 's 
well  he  died,  the  sight  w^ould  have  killed  him." 

Bongrand,  who  bought  in  for  Ursula  certain  articles 
which  her  uncle  cherished,  and  which  were  suitable  for 
her  little  house,  did  not  appear  at  the  sale  of  the 
librar}'.  Shrewder  than  the  heirs,  whose  cupidity 
might  have  run  up  the  price  of  the  books  had  the}- 
known  he  was  buying  them  for  Ursula,  he  commis- 
sioned a  dealer  in  old  books  living  in  Melun  to  bu}' 
them  for  him.  As  a  result  of  the  heirs'  anxietj'  the 
whole  library  was  sold  book  by  book.  Three  thousand 
volumes  were  examined,  one  b\'  one,  held  by  the  two 
sides  of  the  binding  and  shaken  so  that  loose  papers 
would  infallibly  fall  out.  The  whole  amount  of  the 
purchases  on  Ursula's  account  amounted  to  six  thousand 
five  hundred  francs  or  thereabouts.  The  book-cases 
were  not  allowed  to  leave  the  premises  until  carefull3' 
examined  by  a  cabinet-maker,  brought  down  from  Paris 


Ursula.  259 

to  search  for  secret  drawers.  When  at  last  Monsieur 
Bongrand  gave  orders  to  take  the  books  and  the  book- 
cases to  Mademoiselle  Mirouet's  house  the  heirs  were 
tortured  with  vague  fears,  not  dissipated  until  in  course 
of  time  they  saw  how  poorl}^  she  lived. 

Minoret  bought  his  uncle's  house,  the  value  of  which 
his  co-heirs  ran  up  to  fifty  thousand  francs,  imagining 
that  the  post  master  expected  to  find  a  treasure  in  the 
walls  ;  in  fact  the  house  was  sold  with  a  reservation  on 
this  subject.  Two  weeks  later  Minoret  disposed  of  his 
post  establishment,  with  all  the  coaches  and  horses,  to 
the  son  of  a  rich  farmer,  and  went  to  live  in  his  uncle's 
house,  where  he  speut  considerable  sums  in  repairing 
and  refurnishing  the  rooms.  B}'  making  this  move  he 
thoughtlessly  condemned  himself  to  live  within  sight  of 
Ursula. 

"  I  hope,"  he  said  to  Dionis  the  day  when  Madame 
de  Portenduère  was  summoned  to  pay  her  debt,  "  that 
we  shall  soon  be  rid  of  those  nobles  ;  after  the}'  are 
gone  we  '11  drive  out  the  rest.'' 

"  That  old  woman  with  fourteen  quarterings,"  said 
Goupil,  "-won't  want  to  witness  her  own  disaster; 
she'll  go  and  die  in  Brittany,  where  she  can  manage  to 
find  a  wife  for  her  son." 

"  No,"  said  the  notary",  who  had  that  morning  drawn 
out  a  deed  of  sale  at  Bongrand's  request.  ''  Ursula 
has  just  bought  the  house  she  is  living  in." 


260  Ursula. 

"  That  cursed  fool  docs  everything  she  can  to  annoy 
me  !  "  cried  the  post  master  imprudently. 

*'  What  does  it  signify  to  you  whether  she  lives  in 
Nemours  or  not?"  asked  Goupil,  surprised  at  the 
annoyance  which  the  colossus  betrajed. 

"  Don't  3'ou  know,"  answered  Minoret,  turning  as 
red  as  a  poppj",  "  that  my  son  is  fool  enough  to  be  in 
love  with  her  ?  I  'd  give  five  hundred  francs  if  I  could 
get  Ursula  out  of  this  town." 


Ursula.  261 


XVI. 

THE  TWO  ADVERSARIES. 

Perhaps  the  foregoing  conduct  on  the  part  of  the 
post  master  will  have  shown  already  that  Ursula,  poor 
and  resigned,  was  destined  to  be  a  thorn  in  the  side  of 
the  rich  Minoret.  The  bustle  attending  the  settlement 
of  an  estate,  the  sale  of  the  propertj-,  the  going  and 
coming  necessitated  b}'  such  unusual  business,  his  dis- 
cussions with  his  wife  about  the  most  trifling  details, 
the  purchase  of  the  doctoi''s  house,  where  Zélie  wished 
to  live  in  bourgeois  st3'le  to  advance  her  son's  interests^ 
—  all  this  hurl3--burl\',  contrasting  with  his  usually'  tran- 
quil life  hindered  the  huge  Minoret  from  thinking  of  his 
victim.  But  about  the  middle  of  May,  a  few  days  after 
his  installation  in  the  doctor's  house,  as  he  was  coming 
home  from  a  walk,  he  heard  the  sound  of  a  piano,  saw 
La  Bougival  sitting  at  a  window,  like  a  dragon  guarding 
a  treasure,  and  suddenly  became  aware  of  an  impor- 
tunate voice  within  him. 

To  explain  why  to  a  man  of  Minoret's  nature  the 
sight  of  Ursula,  who  had  no  suspicion  of  the  theft  com- 
mitted upon  her,  now  became  intolerable  ;  why  the 
spectacle  of  so  much  fortitude  under   misfortune  im- 


262  Ursula. 

pelled  him  to  a  desire  to  drive  the  girl  out  of  the  town  ; 
and  how  and  why  it  was  that  this  desire  took  the  form 
of  hatred  and  revenge,  would  require  a  whole  treatise 
on  moral  philosoph3^  Perhaps  he  felt  he  was  not  the 
real  possessor  of  thirty-six  thousand  francs  a  year  so 
long  as  she  to  whom  they  really  belonged  lived  near 
him.  Perhaps  he  fancied  some  mere  chance  might 
betray  his  theft  if  the  person  despoiled  was  not  got  rid 
of.  Perhaps  to  a  nature  in  some  sort  primitive,  almost 
uncivilized,  and  whose  owner  up  to  that  time  had  never 
done  anything  illegal,  the  presence  of  Ursula  awakened 
remorse.  Possiblj'  this  remorse  goaded  him  the  more 
because  he  had  received  his  share  of  the  property  legiti- 
matel}'  acquired.  In  his  own  mind  he  no  doubt  attrib- 
uted these  stirrings  of  his  conscience  to  the  fact  of 
Ursula's  presence,  imagining  that  if  she  were  removed 
all  his  uncomfortable  feelings  would  disappear  with  her. 
But  still,  after  all,  perhaps  crime  has  its  own  doctrine 
of  perfection.  A  beginning  of  evil  demands  its  end  ; 
a  first  stab  must  be  followed  by  the  blow  that  kills. 
Perhaps  robbery  is  doomed  to  lead  to  murder.  Minoret 
had  committed  the  crime  without  the  slightest  reflec- 
tion, so  rapidly  had  the  events  taken  place  ;  reflection 
came  later.  Now,  if  3'on  have  thorouglil}-  possessed 
3'ourself  of  this  man's  nature  and  bodil}'  presence  3'ou 
will  understand  the  mighty  effect  produced  upon  him  b^' 
a  thought.     Remorse  is  more  than  a  thought  ;  it  comes 


Ursula.  263 

from  a  feeling  which  can  no  more  be  hidden  than  love  ; 
like  love,  it  has  its  own  tyrann}'.  But,  just  as  Minoret 
had  committed  the  crime  against  Ursula  without  the 
slightest  reflection,  so  he  now  bhndl}'  longed  to  drive 
her  from  Nemours  when  he  felt  himself  disturbed  by  the 
sight  of  that  wronged  innocence.  Being,  in  a  sense, 
imbecile,  he  never  thought  of  the  consequences  ;  he 
went  from  danger  to  danger,  driven  b}'  a  selfish  instinct, 
like  a  wild  animal  which  does  not  foresee  the  hunts- 
man's skill,  and  relics  on  its  own  rapidity  or  strength. 
Before  long  the  rich  bourgeois,  who  still  met  in  Dionis' 
salon,  noticed  a  great  change  in  the  manners  and  be- 
havior of  the  man  who  had  hitherto  been  so  free  of 
care. 

"  I  don't  know  what  has  come  to  Minoret,  he  is  all 
no  hoio"  said  his  wife,  from  whom  he  was  resolved 
to  hide  his  daring  deed. 

Everybody'  explained  his  condition  as  being,  neither 
moi'e  nor  less,  ennui  (in  fact  the  thought  now  expressed 
on  his  face  did  resemble  ennui),  caused,  they  said,  by 
tlie  sudden  cessation  of  business  and  the  change  fz'om 
an  active  life  to  one  of  well-to-do  leisure. 

While  Minoret  was  thinking  onl}'  of  destroying  Ur- 
sula's life  in  Nemours,  La  Bougival  never  let  a  da}'  go 
b}'  without  torturing  her  foster  child  with  some  allusion 
to  the  fortune  she  ought  to  have  had,  or  without  com- 
paring her  miserable  lot  with  the  prospects  tlie  doctor 


264  Urmia. 

had  promised,  and  of  which  he  had  often  spoken  to  her, 
La  Bongival. 

"  It  is  not  for  m3'self  I  speak,"  she  said,  "  but  is  it 
hkel}^  that  monsieur,  good  and  kind  as  he  was,  would 
have  died  without  leaving  me  the  merest  trifle?  —  " 

"Am  I  not  here?"  rephed  Ursula,  forbidding  La 
Bougival  to  say  another  word  on  the  subject. 

She  could  not  endure  to  soil  the  dear  and  tender 
memories  that  surrounded  that  noble  head  —  a  sketch 
of  which  in  black  and  white  hung  in  her  little  salon  — 
with  thoughts  of  selfish  interest.  To  her  fresh  and 
beautiful  imagination  that  sketch  sufficed  to  make  her 
see  her  godfather,  on  whom  her  thoughts  continually 
dwelt,  all  the  more  because  surrounded  with  the  thuigs 
he  loved  and  used,  —  his  large  duchess-sofa,  the  furni- 
ture from  his  study,  his  backgammon-table,  and  the 
piano  he  had  chosen  for  her.  The  two  old  friends  who 
still  remained  to  her,  the  Abbé  Chaperon  and  Monsieur 
Bongrand,  the  only  visitors  whom  she  received,  were, 
in  the  midst  of  these  inanimate  objects  representative 
of  the  past,  like  two  living  memories  of  her  former  life 
to  which  she  attached  her  present  b}'  the  love  her  god- 
father had  blessed. 

After  a  while  the  sadness  of  her  thoughts,  softening 
gradually,  gave  tone  to  the  general  tenor  of  her  life  and 
united  all  its  parts  in  an  indefinable  harmony,  expressed 
bj'  the  exquisite  neatness,  the  exact  symmetry  of  her 


Ursula.  265 

room,  tlie  few  flowers  sent  by  Savinien,  the  dainty 
nothings  of  a  young  girl's  life,  the  tranquillity  which 
her  quiet  habits  diffused  about  her,  giving  peace  and 
composure  to  the  little  home.  After  breakfast  and 
after  mass  she  continued  her  studies  and  practised  ; 
then  she  took  her  embroidery  and  sat  at  the  window 
looking  on  the  street.  At  four  o'clock  Savinien,  re- 
turning from  a  walk  (which  he  took  in  all  weathers), 
finding  the  window  open,  would  sit  upon  the  outer 
casing  and  talk  with  her  for  half  an  hour.  In  the  even- 
ing the  abbé  and  Monsieur  Bongrand  came  to  see  her, 
but  she  never  allowed  Savinien  to  accompany  them. 
Neither  did  she  accept  Madame  de  Portenduère's 
proposition,  which  Savinien  had  induced  his  mother  to 
make,  that  she  should  visit  there. 

Ursula  and  La  Bougival  lived,  moreover,  with  the 
strictest  economy  ;  the}^  did  not  spend,  counting  ever}'- 
thing,  more  than  sixty  francs  a  month.  The  old  nurse 
was  indefatigable  ;  she  washed  and  ironed  ;  cooked 
only  twice  a  week,  —  mistress  and  maid  eating  their 
food  cold  on  other  days  ;  for  Ursula  was  determined  to 
save  the  seven  hundred  francs  still  due  on  the  purchase 
of  the  house.  This  rigid  conduct,  together  with  her 
modest}'  and  her  resignation  to  a  life  of  povert}'  after 
the  enjo3-ment  of  luxury  and  the  fond  indulgence  of  all 
her  wishes,  deeply  impressed  certain  persons.  Ursula 
won   the  respect  of  others,  and   no  voice  was  raised 


2G6  Ursula. 

against  her.  Even  tlio  heirs,  once  satisfied,  «Tul  her 
justice.  Savinien  admired  the  strenj^lh  of  clianielrr  of 
so  young  a  girl.  Fiuni  lime  to  time  Machimc  do  l'or- 
tendut're,  when  thev  iiu-t  in  eluneh,  would  address  a 
I'vw  kind  words  to  hrr,  and  twice  she  insisted  on  her 
coming  to  dinner  and  fetched  her  herself.  If  all  this 
was  not  happiness  it  was  at  least  tranquillity.  Hut  a 
benefit  which  came  to  Ursula  through  tlie  U-gal  care  and 
ability  of  liongrand  started  the  smouldering  pcnsecu- 
ti(^n  wliich  up  to  lli'is  time  had  lain  in  Minoret's  breast 
as  a  dumb  desire. 

As  soon  as  the  legal  settlement  of  tlie  doctor's  estate 
was  fMushcd,  the  justice  of  peace,  urged  by  Ursula, 
took  the  cause  of  the  I'ortcnduires  in  hand  and  [irom- 
ised  her  to  get  them  out  of  their  troulile.  In  dealing 
with  the  old  lady,  whose  oi)position  to  Ursula's  happi- 
ness made  him  furious,  he  did  not  allow  her  to  be 
ignorant  of  the  fact  that  his  devotion  to  her  service  was 
solely  to  give  pleasure  to  Mademoiselle  MirouOt.  He 
chose  one  of  his  former  clerks  to  act  for  the  I'orten- 
dubres  at  Fontainebleau,  and  himself  put  in  a  mo- 
tion for  a  stay  of  proceedings.  He  intended  to  profit 
by  the  interval  which  must  elapse  between  the  stoppage 
of  the  present  suit  and  some  new  step  on  the  part  of 
Massin  to  renew  the  lease  at  six  thousand  francs,  get  a 
premium  from  the  present  tenants  and  the  payment  in 
full  of  the  rent  of  the  current  vear. 


Ursula.  267 

At  this  time,  when  these  matters  had  to  be  dis- 
cussed, the  former  whist-purtics  were  again  organized 
in  Madame  de  Portenduère's  salon,  between  himself, 
the  abbé,  Savinien,  and  Ursula,  whom  the  abbé  and 
he  escorted  there  and  back  every  evening.  In  June, 
Bongrand  succeeded  in  quashing  the  proceedings  ; 
whereupon  the  new  lease  was  signed  ;  he  obtained  a 
premium  of  thirt3'-two  thousand  francs  from  the  farmer 
and  a  rent  of  six  thousand  a  year  for  eighteen  years. 
The  evening  of  the  day  on  whieh  this  was  finally  settled 
he  went  to  see  Zélie,  whom  he  knew  to  be  puzzled  as 
to  how  to  invest  her  money,  and  proposed  to  sell  her 
the  farm  at  Bordières  for  two  hundred  and  twenty 
thousand   francs. 

"  I  'd  buy  it  at  once,"  said  Minoret,  "  if  1  were  sure 
the  Portendueres  would  go  and  live  somewhere  else." 

"  Wh}-?  "  said  the  justice  of  peace. 

"  We  want  to  get  rid  of  nobles  in  Nemours." 

"  I  did  hear  the  old  lady  say  that  if  she  could  settle 
her  atfuirs  she  should  go  and  live  in  Brittany,  as  she 
would  not  have  means  enough  left  to  live  here.  She  is 
thinking  of  selling  her  house." 

"  Well,  sell  it  to  me,"  said  Minoret. 

"  To  you?  "  said  Zélie.  "  You  talk  as  if  you  were 
master  of  everytliing.  What  do  you  want  with  two 
houses  in  Nemours?'' 

"  If  I  don't  settle  this  matter  of  the  farm  with  vou 


268  Ursula. 

to-night,"  said  Bongrand,  "  our  lease  will  get  known, 
Massin  will  put  in  a  fresh  claim,  and  I  shall  lose  this 
chance  of  liquidation  which  I  am  anxious  to  make.  So 
if  you  don't  take  ray  offer  I  shall  go  at  once  to  Melun, 
where  some  farmers  I  know  are  ready  to  bu}"  the  farm 
with  their  eyes  shut." 

"  Why  did  you  come  to  us,  then?  "  asked  Zélie. 

"Because  you  can  pa}'  me  in  cash,  and  m\'  other 
clients  would  make  me  wait  some  time  for  the  moncj'. 
I  don't  want  difficulties." 

"  Get  her  out  of  Nemours  and  I  '11  pay  it,"  exclaimed 
Minoret. 

"You  understand  that  I  cannot  answer  for  Madame 
de  Portenduère's  actions,"  said  Bongrand.  "  I  can 
only  repeat  what  I  heard  her  say,  but  I  feel  certain 
they  will  not  remain  in  Nemours." 

On  this  assurance,  enforced  b}'  a  nudge  from  Zélie, 
Minoret  agreed  to  the  purchase,  and  furnished  the  funds 
to  pa}'  off  the  mortgage  due  to  the  doctor's  estate. 
The  deed  of  sale  was  immediatel}'  drawn  up  b}'  Dionis. 
Towards  the  end  of  June  Bongrand  brought  the  balance 
of  the  purchase  money  to  Madame  de  Portenduère, 
advising  her  to  invest  it  in  the  Funds,  where,  joined  to 
Savinien's  ten  thousand,  it  would  give  her,  at  five  per 
cent,  an  income  of  six  thousand  francs.  Thus,  so  far 
from  losing  her  resources,  the  old  lady  actually  gained 
by  the  transaction.     But  she  did  not  leave  Nemours. 


Ursula.  269 

Minoret  thought  he  had  been  tricked,  —  as  though  Bon- 
grand  had  had  an  idea  that  Ursula's  presence  was  intol- 
erable to  him  ;  and  he  felt  a  keen  resentment  which  em- 
bittered his  hatred  to  his  victim.  Then  began  a  secret 
drama  which  was  terrible  in  its  effects,  —  the  struggle 
of  two  determinations  ;  one  which  impelled  Minoret 
to  drive  his  victim  from  Nemours,  the  other  which  gave 
Ursula  the  strength  to  bear  persecution,  the  cause  of 
which  was  for  a  certain  length  of  time  undiscoverable. 
The  situation  was  a  strange  and  even  unnatural  one, 
and  yet  it  was  led  up  to  by  all  the  preceding  events, 
which  served  as  a  preface  to  what  was  now  to  occur. 

Madame  Minoret,  to  whom  her  husband  had  given  a 
handsome  silver  service  costing  twent}-  thousand  francs, 
gave  a  magnificent  dinner  every  Sunday,  the  day  on 
which  her  son,  the  deputy  procureur,  came  from  Fon- 
tainebleau, bringing  with  him  certain  of  his  friends.  On 
these  occasions  Zélie  sent  to  Paris  for  delicacies  — 
obliging  Dionis  the  notary  to  emulate  her  displa}'. 
Goupil,  whom  the  Miuorets  endeavored  to  ignore  as  a 
questionable  person  who  might  tarnish  their  splendor, 
was  not  invited  until  the  end  of  Jul}'.  The  clerk,  who 
was  fully  aware  of  this  intended  neglect,  was  forced  to 
be  respectful  to  Désiré,  who,  since  his  entrance  into 
office,  had  assumed  a  haught}'  and  dignified  air,  even  in 
his  own  family. 

"■  You  must  have  forgotten  Esther,"  Goupil  said  to 


270  Ursula. 

him,  "as  yon  are  so  imioh  in  love  with  Mademoiselle 
Mironet." 

"  Jn  the  fust  place,  Esther  is  dead,  monsieni  ;  and 
in  the  next  I  have  never  even  thought  of  Ursula,"  said 
the  new  magistrate. 

"  Why,  what  did  you  tell  me,  papa  Minoret?"  cried 
Goupil,  insolently. 

Minoret,  caught  in  a  lie  by  a  man  whf)in  he  feared, 
would  have  lost  countenance  if  it  had  not  been  for  a 
project  in  his  head,  wliich  was,  in  fact,  the  reason  why 
Goupil  was  invited  to  dinner,  —  INIinoret  having  remem- 
bered the  proposition  the  clerk  had  once  made  to  pre- 
vent the  marriage  between  S:ivinien  and  Ursula  For 
all  answer,  he  led  Goupil  hurriedly  to  the  end  of  the 
garden. 

"You'll  soon  be  twenty-eight  yeara  old,  my  good 
fellow,"  he  said,  "  and  I  don't  see  that  you  are  on  the 
road  to  fortune.  I  wish  you  well,  for  after  all  you  were 
once  my  son's  companion.  Listen  to  me.  If  you  can 
persuade  that  little  Mirouët,  who  possesses  in  her  own 
right  forty  thousand  francs,  to  marry  you,  I  will  give 
3'ou,  as  true  as  my  name  is  Mirouët,  the  means  to  buy 
a  notary's  practice  at  Orléans." 

"  No,"  said  Goupil,  "  that's  too  far  out  of  the  way  ; 
but  Montargis  —  " 

"  No,"  said  Minoret  ;  "Sens." 

"Very  good,  —  Sens,"    replied    the    hideous   clerk. 


Ursula.  271 

"  There  's  an  archbishop  at  Sens,  and  I  don't  object  to 
devotion  ;  a  little  hypocris}'  and  there  3'ou  are,  on  the 
way  to  fortune.  Besides,  the  girl  is  pious,  and  she  '11 
succeed  at  Sens." 

"It  is  to  be  fully  understood,"  continued  Minoret, 
"  that  I  shall  not  pay  the  luoiioy  till  you  marry  my 
cousin,  for  whom  I  wish  to  provide,  out  of  consideration 
for  my  deceased  uncle." 

"  Why  not  for  me  too?"  said  Goupil  maliciously,  in- 
stantly suspecting  a  secret  motive  in  Minoret's  conduct. 
"  Is  n't  it  through  information  you  got  from  me  that 
you  make  twenty- four  thousand  a  year  from  tliat  land, 
without  a  single  enclosure,  round  the  Château  du 
Kouvre?  The  fields  and  the  mill  the  other  side  of  the 
Loing  make  sixteen  thousand  more.  Come,  old  fellow, 
do  you  mean  to  play  fair  with  me?  " 
"  Yes." 

"  If  I  wanted  to  show  my  teeth  I  could  coax  Massin 
to  buy  the  Rouvre  estate,  park,  gardens,  preserves,  and 
timber  —  " 

"  You  'd  better  think  twice  before  you  do  that,"  said 
Zélie,  suddenl}'  intervening. 

"  If  I  choose,"  said  Goupil,  giving  her  a  vipensh 
look  ;  ''  Massin  would  buy  the  whole  for  two  hundred 
thousand   francs." 

"  Leave  us,  wife,"  said  the  colossus,  taking  Zélie  by 
the  arm,  and  shoving  her  away;  "  I  understand  him. 


272  Ursula. 

We  have  been  so  veiy  bus3%"  he  continued,  returning  to 
Goupil,  ' '  that  we  have  had  no  time  to  think  of  30U  ; 
but  I  rely  on  your  friendship  to  buy  the  Rouvre  estate 
for  me." 

"It  is  a  ver}'  ancient  marquisate,"  said  Goupil, 
maliciously  ;  "  which  will  soon  be  worth  in  3'our  hands 
fifty  thousand  francs  a  year  ;  that  means  a  capital  of 
more  than  two  millions  as  money  is  now." 

"My  son  could  then  many  the  daughter  of  a  mar- 
shal of  France,  or  the  heiress  of  some  old  family  whose 
influence  would  get  him  a  fine  place  under  the  govern- 
ment in  Paris,"  said  Minoret,  opening  his  huge  snufl"- 
box  and  offering  a  pinch  to  Goupil. 

"  Ver}'  good  ;  but  will  you  play  fair?  "  cried  Goupil, 
shaking  his  fingers. 

Minoret  pressed  the  clerk's  hands  replying  :  — 

"  On  my  word  of  honor." 


Ursula,  273 


XVII. 

THE  MALIGNITY  OF  PROVINCIAL  MINDS. 

Like  all  crafty  persons,  Goupil,  fortunatel}'  for 
Minoret,  believed  that  the  proposed  marriage  with 
Ursula  was  only  a  pretext  on  the  part  of  the  colossus 
and  Zelie  for  making  up  with  him,  now  that  he  was 
opposing  them  with   Massin. 

"It  isn't  he,"  thought  Goupil,  "who  has  invented 
this  scheme  ;  I  know  m}^  Zelie,  —  she  taught  him  his 
part.  Bah  !  I  '11  let  Massin  go.  In  three  years  time 
I  '11  be  deputy  from  Sens."  Just  then  he  saw  Bon- 
grand  on  his  way  to  the  opposite  house  for  his  whist, 
and  he  rushed  hastil}^   after  liim. 

"  You  take  a  great  interest  in  Mademoiselle  Mirouët, 
my  dear  Monsieur  Bongrand,"  he  said.  "  1  know  you 
will  not  be  inditferent  to  her  future.  Her  relations  are 
considering  it,  and  here  is  the  programme  ;  she  ought  to 
marry  a  notary  whose  practice  should  be  in  the  chiof 
town  of  an  arrondissement.  This  notary,  who  would  of 
course  be  elected  deputy  in  three  years,  should  settle  a 
dower  of  a  hundred  thousand  francs  on  her." 

'  '  She  can  do  better  than  that,"  said  Bongrand  coldl}'. 
"  Madame  de  Portenduère  is  greatly  changed  since  her 

18 


274  Ursula. 

misfortunes  ;  trouble  is  killing  her.  Savinicn  will  have 
six  thousand  francs  a  3'ear,  and  Ursula  has  a  capital  of 
forty  thousand.  I  shall  show  them  how  to  increase  it  à 
la  Massin,  but  honestly,  and  in  ten  years  they  will  have 
a  little  fortune." 

"  Savinien  will  do  a  foolish  thing,"  said  Goupil; 
"  he  can  marry  Mademoiselle  du  Rouvre  whenever  he 
likes,  —  an  only  daughter  to  whom  the  uncle  and  aunt 
intend  to  leave  a  fine  propert}'." 

"  Where  love  enters  farewell  prudence,  as  La  Fon- 
taine sa3's  —  By  the  bye,  who  is  your  notar}'  ?  "  added 
Bongrand  from  curiosit}'. 

"  Suppose  it  were  I?"  answered  Goupil. 

"You!"  exclaimed  Bongrand,  without  hiding  his 
disgust. 

"Well,  well!  —  Adieu,  monsieur,"  replied  Goupil, 
with  a  parting  glance  of  gall  and  hatred  and  defiance. 

"  Do  you  wish  to  be  the  wife  of  a  notary  who  will 
settle  a  hundred  thousand  francs  on  3'ou?"  cried  Bon 
grand  entering  Madame  de  Portenduère's  little  salon, 
where  Ursula  was  seated  beside  the  old  lady. 

Ursula  and  Savinien  trembled  and  looked  at  each 
other,  —  she  smiling,  he  not  daring  to  show  his  un- 
easiness. 

"I  am  not  mistress  of  myself,"  said  Ursula,  hold- 
ing out  her  hand  to  Savinien  in  such  a  way  that  the 
old  lady  did  not  perceive  the  gesture. 


Ursula.  275 

"  Well,  I  have  refused  the  offer  without  consulting 
you." 

"  Wh}'  did  30U  do  that?"  said  Madame  de  Por- 
tenduère.  "I  think  the  position  of  a  notary  is  a  very 
good   one." 

"  I  prefer  m}*  peaceful  poverty,"  said  Ursula,  "  which 
is  really  wealth  compared  with  what  ni}'  station  m  life 
might  have  given  me.  Besides,  ray  old  nurse  spares 
me  a  great  deal  of  care,  and  I  shall  not  exchange  the 
present,  which  I  like,  for  an  unknown  fate." 

A  few  weeks  later  the  post  poured  into  two  hearts 
the  poison  of  anonymous  letters,  —  one  addressed  to 
Madame  de  Portenduère,  the  other  to  Ursula.  The 
following  is  the  one  to  the  old  lady  :  — 

"  You  love  your  son,  you  wish  to  marry  him  in  a  manner 
conformable  with  the  name  he  bears  ;  and  yet  you  encourage 
his  fancy  for  an  ambitious  girl  without  money  and  the 
daughter  of  a  regimental  band-master,  by  inviting  her  to 
yom'  house.  You  ought  to  marry  him  to  Mademoiselle  du 
Rouvre,  on  whom  her  two  uncles,  the  Marquis  de  Ronque- 
rolles  and  the  Chevalier  du  Rouvre,  who  are  worth  money, 
would  settle  a  hand.some  sum  rather  than  leave  it  to  that  old 
fool  the  Marquis  du  Rouvre,  who  runs  through  everything. 
Madame  de  Sérizy,  aunt  of  Clémentine  du  Rouvre,  who  has 
just  lost  her  only  son  in  the  campaign  in  Algiers,  will  no 
doubt  adopt  her  niece.  A  person  who  is  your  well-wisher 
assures  you  that  Savinien  will  be  accepted." 

The  letter  to  Ursula  was  as  follows  :  — 


276  Ursula. 

Dear  Ursula,  —  There  is  a  young  man  in  Nemours  who 
idolizes  you.  He  cannot  see  you  working  at  your  window 
without  emotions  which  prove  to  him  that  his  love  will  last 
through  life.  This  young  man  is  gifted  with  an  iron  will 
and  a  spirit  of  perseverance  which  nothing  can  discourage. 
Receive  his  addresses  favorably,  for  his  intentions  are  pure, 
and  he  humbly  asks  your  hand  with  a  sincere  desire  to  make 
you  happy.  His  fortune,  already  suitable,  is  nothing  to  that 
which  he  will  make  for  you  when  you  are  once  his  wife. 
You  shall  be  received  at  court  as  the  wife  of  a  minister  and 
one  of  the  first  ladies  in  the  land 

As  he  sees  you  every  day  (without  your  being  able  to  see 
him)  put  a  pot  of  La  Bougival's  pinks  in  your  window  and  he 
will  understand  from  that  that  he  has  your  permission  to 
present  himself. 

Ursula  burned  the  letter  and  said  nothing  about  it  to 
Savinien.  Two  dajs  later  she  received  another  letter 
in  the  following  language  :  — 

"  You  do  wrong,  my  dear  Ursula,  not  to  answer  one  who 
loves  you  better  than  life  itself.  You  think  you  will  maiTy 
Savinien  —  you  are  very  much  mistaken.  That  marriage 
will  not  take  place.  Madame  de  Portenduère  went  this 
morning  to  Rouvre  to  ask  for  the  hand  of  Mademoiselle 
Clémentine  for  her  son.  Savinien  will  yield  in  the  end. 
What  objection  can  he  make  ?  The  uncles  of  the  young 
lady  are  willing  to  guarantee  their  fortune  to  her;  it  amounts 
to  over  sixty  thousand  francs  a  year." 

This  letter  agonized  Ursula's  heart  and  afflicted  her 
with  the  tortures  of  jealousy,  a  form  of  suffering  hitherto 


Ursula.  277 

unknown  to  her,  but  which  to  this  fine  organization,  so 
sensitive  to  pain,  threw  a  pall  over  the  present  and 
over  the  future,  and  even  over  the  past.  From  the 
moment  when  she  received  this  fatal  paper  she  la}'  on 
the  doctor's  sofa,  her  eyes  fixed  on  space,  lost  in  a 
dreadful  dream.  In  an  instant  the  chill  of  death  had 
come  upon  her  warm  joung  life.  Alas,  worse  than 
that  !  it  was  like  the  awful  awakening  of  the  dead  to 
the  sense  that  there  was  no  God,  —  the  masterpiece  of 
that  strange  genius  called  Jean  Paul.  Four  times  La 
Bougival  called  her  to  breakfast.  "When  the  faithful 
creature  tried  to  remonstrate,  Ursula  waved  her  hand 
and  answered  in  one  harsh  word,  "Hush!"  said  des- 
potically, in  strange  contrast  to  her  usual  gentle  manner. 
La  Bougival,  watching  her  mistress  through  the  glass 
door,  saw  her  alternately  red  with  a  consuming  fever, 
and  blue  as  if  a  shudder  of  cold  had  succeeded  that 
unnatural  heat.  This  condition  grew  worse  and  worse 
up  to  four  o'clock  ;  then  she  rose  to  see  if  Saviuien 
were  coming,  but  he  did  not  come.  Jealous^"  and  dis- 
trust tear  all  reserves  from  love.  Ursula,  who  till  then 
had  never  made  one  gesture  b^-  which  her  love  could 
be  guessed,  now  took  her  hat  and  shawl  and  rushed  into 
the  passage  as  if  to  go  and  meet  him.  But  an  after- 
thought of  modesty  sent  her  back  to  her  little  salon, 
where  she  stayed  and  wept.  When  the  abbé  arrived  in 
the  evening  La  Bougival  met  him  at  the  door. 


278  Ursula. 

"  Ah,  monsieur  !  "  she  cried  ;  "  I  don't  know  what 's 
the  matter  with  mademoiselle  ;  she  is  —  " 

"I  know,"  said  the  abbé  sadly,  stoppnig  the  words 
of  the  poor  nurse. 

He  then  told  Ursula  (what  she  had  not  dared  to 
verify)  that  Madame  de  Portenduère  had  gone  to  dine 
at  Rouvre. 

"  And  Saviuieu  too?  "  she  asked. 

"Yes." 

Ursula  was  seized  with  a  little  nervous  tremor  which 
made  the  abbé  quiver  as  though  a  whole  Lejxlen  jar 
had  been  discharged  at  him  ;  he  felt  moreover  a  lasting 
commotion  in  his  heart. 

"So  we  shall  not  go  there  to-night,"  he  said  as 
gently  as  he  could  ;  "  and,  my  child,  it  would  be  better 
if  you  did  not  go  there  again.  The  old  lady  will  receive 
you  in  a  way  to  wound  your  pride.  Monsieur  Bon- 
grand  and  1,  who  had  succeeded  in  bringing  her  to 
consider  your  marriage,  have  no  idea  from  what  quar- 
ter this  new  influence  has  come  to  change  her,  as  it 
were  in  a  moment." 

"  I  expect  the  worst  ;  nothing  can  surprise  me  now," 
said  Ursula  in  a  pained  voice.  "In  such  extremities 
it  is  a  comfort  to  feel  that  we  have  done  nothing  to 
displease  God." 

"  Submit,  dear  daughter,  and  do  not  seek  to  fathom 
the  ways  of  Providence,"  said  the  abbé. 


Ursula.  279 

"  I  shall  not  unjustly  distrust  the  character  of  Mon- 
sieur de  Portenduère  —  " 

"  Why  do  3'ou  no  longer  call  him  Savinien,"  asked 
the  priest,  who  detected  a  slight  bitterness  in  Ursula's 
tone. 

''Of  my  dear  Savinien,"  cried  the  girl,  bursting  into 
tears.  "  Yes,  my  good  friend,"  she  said,  sobbing, 
"  a  voice  tells  me  he  is  as  noble  in  heart  as  he  is  in 
race.  He  has  not  onl}-  told  me  that  he  loves  me  alone, 
but  he  has  proved  it  in  a  hundred  delicate  wa3-s,  and  by 
restraining  heroically  his  ardent  feelings.  Latel}-  when 
he  took  the  hand  I  held  out  to  him,  that  evening  when 
Monsieur  Bongrand  proposed  to  me  a  husband,  it  was 
the  first  time,  I  swear  to  you,  that  I  had  ever  given  it. 
He  began  with  a  jest  when  he  blew  me  a  kiss  across 
the  street,  but  since  then  our  affection  has  never  out- 
wardly passed,  as  j'ou  well  know,  the  narrowest  limits. 
But  I  will  tell  you,  —  you  who  read  mv  soul  except 
in  this  one  region  where  none  but  the  angels  see,  — 
well,  I  will  tell  you,  this  love  has  been  in  me  the  secret 
spring  of  manj'  seeming  merits  ;  it  made  me  accept  my 
povert}'  ;  it  softened  the  bitterness  of  my  irreparable 
loss,  for  my  mourning  is  more  perhaps  in  m^'  clothes 
now  than  in  m}-  heart —  Oh,  was  I  wrong?  can  it  be 
that  love  was  stronger  in  me  than  my  gratitude  to  my 
benefactor,  and  God  has  punished  me  for  it?  But 
how   could    it   be    otherwise?     I   respected   in    mj-self 


280  Ursula. 

Savinien's  future  wife  ;  j-es,  perhaps  I  was  too  proud, 
perhaps  it  is  that  pride  which  God  has  humbled.  God 
alone,  as  yoxx  have  often  told  me,  should  be  the  end  and 
object  of  all  our  actions." 

The  abbé  was  deeply  touched  as  he  watched  the  tears 
roll  down  her  pallid  face.  The  higher  her  sense  of 
security  had  been,  the  lower  she  was  now  to  fall. 

"But,"  she  said,  continuing,  "if  I  return  to  my 
orphaned  condition»  I  shall  know  how  to  take  up  its 
feelings.  After  all,  could  I  have  tied  a  mill-stone 
round  the  neck  of  him  I  love  ?  What  can  he  do  here  ? 
"Who  am  I  to  bind  him  to  me?  Besides,  do  I  not  love 
him  with  a  friendship  so  divine  that  I  can  bear  the  loss 
of  my  own  happiness  and  my  hopes?  You  know  I  have 
often  blamed  myself  for  letting  my  hopes  rest  upon 
a  grave,  and  for  knowing  they  were  waiting  on  that 
poor  old  lady's  death.  If  Savinien  is  rich  and  happy 
with  another  I  have  enough  to  pay  for  my  entrance  to 
a  convent,  where  I  shall  go  at  once.  There  can  no 
more  be  two  loves  in  a  woman's  heart  than  there  can 
be  two  masters  in  heaven,  and  the  life  of  a  religious  is 
attractive  to  me." 

"  He  could  "not  let  his  mother  go  alone  to  Rouvre," 
said  the  abbé,  gently. 

"  Do  not  let  us  talk  of  that,  my  dear  good  friend," 
she  answered.  "  I  will  write  to-night  and  set  him  free. 
I  am  glad  to  have  to  close  the  windows  of  this  room," 


Ursula.  281 

she  continued,  telling  her  old  friend  of  the  anoi\yraous 
letters,  but  declaring  that  she  would  not  allow  any  in- 
quiries to  be  made  as  to  who  her  unknown  lover 
might  be. 

"Why!  it  was  an  anonymous  letter  that  first  took 
Madame  de  Portenduère  to  Rouvre,"  cried  the  abbé. 
"  You  are  annoyed  for  some  object  by  evil-minded 
persons." 

"How  can  that  be?  Neither  Savinien  nor  I  have 
injured  an}^  one  ;  and  I  am  no  longer  an  obstacle  to  the 
prosperity  of  others." 

"  Well,  well,  my  child,"  said  the  abbé,  quietl}-,  "  let 
us  profit  by  this  tempest,  which  has  scattered  our  little 
circle,  to  put  the  library  in  order.  The  books  are  still 
in  heaps.  Bongrand  and  I  want  to  get  them  in  order  ; 
we  wish  to  make  a  search  among  them.  Put  your 
trust  in  God,  and  remember  also  that  in  our  good  Bon- 
grand and  in  me  3'ou  have  two  devoted  friends." 

"  That  is  much,  very  much,"  she  said,  going  with 
him  to  the  threshold  of  the  door,  wdiere  she  stretched 
out  her  neck  like  a  Inrd  looking  over  its  nest,  hoping 
against  hope  to  see  Savinien. 

Just  then  Minoret  and  Goupil,  returning  from  a  walk 
in  the  meadows,  stopped  as  they  passed,  and  the 
colossus  spoke  to  Ursula. 

"Is  anything  the  matter,  cousin;  for  we  are  still 
cousins,   are  we   not?     You  seem  changed." 


282  Ursula. 

Goupil  looked  so  ardenth'  at  Ursula  that  she  was 
frightened,  and  went  back  into  the  house  without 
replying. 

"  She  is  cross,"  said  Minoret  to  the  abbé. 

"  Mademoiselle  Mirouët  is  quite  right  not  to  talk  to 
men  on  the  threshold  of  her  door,"  said  the  abbé  ; 
"she  is  too  3'oung  —  " 

"Oh  !  ''  said  Goupil.  "  I  am  told  she  does  n't  lack 
lovers." 

The  abbé  bowed  hurriedl}'  and  went  as  fast  as  he 
could  to  the  Rue  des  Bourgeois. 

"  Well,"  said  Goupil  to  Minoret,  "  the  thing  is  work- 
ing. Did  3'ou  notice  how  pale  she  was.  Within  a 
fortnight  she  '11  have  left  the  town  — j-ou  '11  see^." 

"  Better  have  you  for  a  friend  than  an  eneni}-,"  cried 
Minoret,  frightened  at  the  atrocious  grin  which  gave  to 
Goupil's  face  the  diabolical  expression  of  the  Mephis- 
topheles  of  Joseph  Brideau. 

"I  should  think  so!"  returned  Goupil.  "If  she 
does  n't  marr}-  me  I  '11  make  her  die  of  grief." 

'  '  Do  it,  mj'  bo3^  and  I  '11  give  you  the  mone}^  to  buy 
a  practice  in  Paris.  You  can  then  marry  a  rich 
woman  —  " 

"Poor  Ursula!  what  makes  3'ou  so  bitter  against 
her  ?  what  has  she  done  to  you  ?  "  asked  the  clerk  in 
surprise. 

"  She  anno^'s  me,"  said  Minoret,  gruffly. 


Ursula.  283 

"Well,  wait  till  Monda}-  and  you  shall  see  how  I  'II 
rasp  her,"  said  Goupil,  studying  the  expression  of  the 
late  post  master's  face. 

The  next  day  La  Bougival  carried  the  following 
letter  to  Savinien. 

"  I  don't  know  what  the  dear  child  has  written  to 
3'ou,"  she  said,  "  but  she  is  almost  dead  this  morning." 

Who,  reading  this  letter  to  her  lover,  could  fail  to 
understand  the  sufferings  the  poor  girl  had  gone  through 
during  the  night? 

My  dear  Savinien,  —  Your  mother  wishes  you  to  marry 
Mademoiselle  du  Rouvre,  and  perhaps  she  is  riglit.  You  are 
placed  between  a  life  that  is  almost  poverty-stricken  and  a 
life  of  opulence  ;  between  the  betrothed  of  your  heart  and  a 
wife  in  conformity  with  the  demands  of  the  world  ;  between 
obedience  to  your  mother  and  the  fulfilment  of  your  own 
choice  —  for  I  still  believe  that  you  have  chosen  me.  Savi- 
nien, if  you  have  now  to  make  your  decision  I  wish  you  to 
do  so  in  absolute  freedom  ;  I  give  you  back  the  promise  you 
made  to  yourself  —  not  to  me  —  in  a  moment  which  can 
never  fade  from  my  memory,  for  it  was,  like  other  days  that 
have  succeeded  it,  of  angelic  purity  and  sweetness.  That 
memory  will  suffice  me  for  my  life.  If  you  should  persist  in 
your  pledge  to  me,  a  dark  and  terrible  idea  would  henceforth 
trouble  my  happiness.  In  the  midst  of  our  privatioiis  — 
which  we  have  hitherto  accepted  so  gayly  —  you  might  re- 
flect, too  late,  that  life  would  have  been  to  you  a  better 
thing  had  you  now  conformed  to  the  laws  of  the  world.  If 
you  were  a  man  to  express  that  thought,  it  would  be  to  me 


284  Ursula. 

the  sentence  of  an  agonizing  death  ;  if  you  did  not  express  it, 
I  should  watch  suspiciously  every  cloud  upon  your  brow. 

Dear  Savinien,  I  have  preferred  you  to  all  else  on  earth. 
I  was  right  to  do  so,  for  my  godf athei',  though  jealous  of  you, 
used  to  say  to  me,  "  Love  him,  my  child;  you  will  certainly 
belong  to  each  other  one  of  these  days."  "When  I  went  to 
Paris  I  loved  you  hopelessly,  and  the  feeling  contented  me. 
I  do  not  know  if  I  can  now  return  to  it,  but  I  shall  try. 
What  are  we,  after  all,  at  this  moment  ?  Brother  and  sister. 
Let  us  stay  so.  Marry  that  happy  girl  who  can  have  the  joy 
of  giving  to  your  name  the  lustre  it  ought  to  have,  and  which 
your  mother  thinks  I  should  diminish.  You  will  not  hear  of 
me  again.  The  world  will  approve  of  you;  I  shall  never 
blame  you  —  but  I  shall  love  you  ever.     Adieu,  then  ! 

"Wait !  "  cried  the  3'oung  man.  Signing  to  La  Bou- 
gival  to  sit  down,  he  scratched  off  hastily  the  following 
reply  :  — 

My  dear  Ursula,  —  Your  letter  cuts  me  to  the  heart,  in- 
asmuch as  you  have  needlessly  felt  such  jiain  ;  and  also 
because  our  hearts,  for  the  first  time,  have  failed  to  under- 
stand each  other.  If  you  are  not  my  wife  now,  it  is  solely 
because  I  cannot  marry  without  my  mother's  consent. 
Dear,  eight  thousand  francs  a  year  and  a  pretty  cottage  on 
the  Loing,  why,  that 's  a  fortune,  is  it  not  ?  You  know  we 
calculated  that  if  we  kept  La  Bougival  we  could  lay  by  half 
our  income  every  year.  You  allowed  me  that  evening,  in  your 
uncle's  garden,  to  consider  you  mine  ;  you  cannot  now  of 
yourself  break  those  ties  which  are  common  to  both  of  us.  — 
Ursula,  need  I  tell  you  that  I  yesterday  informed  Monsieur 
du  Rouvre  that  even  if  I  were  free  I  could  not  receive  a 


Ursula.  285 

fortune  from  a  young  person  whom  I  did  not  know?  My 
mother  refuses  to  see  you  again  ;  I  must  therefore  lose  the 
happiness  of  our  evenings  ;  but  surely  you  will  not  deprive 
me  of  the  brief  moments  I  can  spend  at  your  window  ? 
This  evening,  then  —     Nothing  can  separate  us. 

"  Take  this  to  her,  my  old  woman  ;  she  must  not 
be  unhappy  one   moment  longer." 

That  afternoon  at  four  o'clock,  returnhig  from  the 
walk  which  he  always  took  expressly  to  pass  before 
Ursula's  house,  Savinien  found  his  mistress  waiting  for 
him,  her  face  a  little  pallid  from  these  sudden  changes 
and  excitements. 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  until  now  I  have  never  known 
what  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  is,"  she  said  to  him. 

"  You  once  said  to  me,"  replied  Savinien,  smiling, — 
"for  I  remember  all  your  words,  —  'Love  hves  by 
patience  ;  we  will  wait  !  '  Dear,  3'ou  have  separated 
love  from  faith.  Ah  !  this  shall  be  the  end  of  our 
quarrels  ;  we  will  never  have  another.  You  have  claimed 
to  love  me  better  than  I  love  you,  but  —  did  I  ever 
doubt  you?"  he  said,  offering  her  a  bouquet  of  wild- 
flowers  arranged  to  express  his  thoughts. 

"  You  have  never  had  an}'  reason  to  doubt  me,"  she 
replied  ;  "  and,  besides,  you  don't  know  all,"  she  added, 
in  a  troubled  voice. 

Ursula  had  refused  to  receive  letters  by  the  post. 
But  that  afternoon,  without  being  able  even  to  guess  at 


286  Ursula. 

the  nature  of  the  trick,  she  had  found,  a  few  moments 
before  Savinien's  arrival,  a  letter  tossed  on  her  sofa 
which  contained  the  words:  "Tremble!  a  rejected 
lover  can  become  a  tiger." 

Withstanding  Savinien's  entreaties,  she  refused  to 
tell  him,  out  of  prudence,  the  secret  of  her  fears.  The 
delight  of  seeing  him  again,  after  she  had  thought  him 
lost  to  her,  could  alone  have  made  her  recover  from  the 
mortal  chill  of  terror.  The  expectation  of  indefinite  evil 
is  torture  to  ever}-  one  ;  suffering  assumes  the  propor- 
tions of  the  unknown,  and  the  unknown  is  the  infinite  of 
the  soul.  To  Ursula  the  pain  was  exquisite.  Something 
within  her  bounded  at  the  slightest  noise  ;  yet  she  was 
afraid  of  silence,  and  suspected  even  the  walls  of  col- 
lusion. Even  her  sleep  was  restless.  Goupil,  who 
knew  nothing  of  her  nature,  delicate  as  tliat  of  a  flower, 
had  found,  with  the  instinct  of  evil,  the  poison  that 
could  wither  and  destroy  her. 

The  next  da}'  passed  without  a  shock.  Ursula  sat 
pla3'ing  on  her  piano  till  very  late  ;  and  went  to  bed 
easier  in  mind  and  very  sleep3\  About  midnight  she 
was  awakened  b}'  the  music  of  a  band  composed  of  a 
clarinet,  hautboy,  flute,  cornet  à  piston,  trombone,  bas- 
soon, flageolet,  and  triangle.  All  the  neighbors  were 
at  their  windows.  The  poor  girl,  already-  frightened 
at  seeing  the  people  in  the  street,  received  a  dreadful 
shock  as  she  heard  the  coarse,  rough  voice  of  a  man 


Ursula.  287 

proclaiming  în  loud  tones  :  "For  the  beautiful  Ursula 
Mirouët,  from  her  lover." 

The  next  day,  Sunday,  the  wliole  town  had  heard  of 
it  ;  and  as  Ursula  entered  and  left  the  church  she  saw 
the  groups  of  people  who  stood  gossiping  about  her, 
and  felt  herself  the  object  of  their  horrible  curiosity. 
The  serenade  set  all  tongues  wagging,  and  conjectures 
were  rife  on  all  sides.  Ursula  reached  home  more 
dead  than  alive,  determined  not  to  leave  the  house 
again,  —  the  abbé  having  advised  her  to  say  vespers  in 
her  own  room.  As  she  entered  the  house  she  saw  l3'ing 
in  the  passage,  which  was  floored  with  brick,  a  letter 
that  had  evidently  been  slipped  under  the  door.  She 
picked  it  up  and  read  it,  under  the  idea  that  it  would 
contain  an  explanation.     It  was  as  follows  :  — 

"  Resign  yourself  to  becoming  my  wife,  rich  and  idolized. 
I  am  resolved.  If  you  are  not  mine  living  you  shall  be  mine 
dead.  To  your  refusal  you  may  attribute  not  only  your  own 
misfortunes,  but  those  which  will  fall  on  others. 

*'  He  who  loves  you,  and  whose  wife  you  will  be." 

Curiousl}'  enough,  at  the  very  moment  that  the  gentle 
victim  of  this  plot  was  drooping  like  a  cut  flower,  Mes- 
demoiselles Massin,  Dionis,  and  Crémière  were  envying 
her  lot. 

"She  is  a  lucky  girl,"  the}-  were  saying;  "people 
talk  of  her,  and  court  her,  and  quarrel  about  her.  The 
serenade  was  charming  ;  there  was  a  cornet-à-pistou." 


288  Ursula. 

"  What's  a  piston?" 

"A  new  musical  instrument,  as  big  as  this,  see!" 
replied  Angélique , Crémière  to  Pamela  Massin. 

Earl}'  that  morning  Savinien  had  gone  to  Fontaine- 
bleau to  endeavor  to  find  out  who  had  engaged  the 
musicians  of  the  regiment  then  in  garrison.  But  as 
there  were  two  men  to  each  instrument  it  was  impossi- 
ble to  find  out  wliich  of  them  had  gone  to  Nemours. 
The  colonel  forbade  the  band  to  play  for  any  private 
person  in  future  without  his  permission.  Savinien  had 
an  interview  with  the  procureur  du  roi,  Ursula's  legal 
guardian,  and  explained  to  him  the  injury  these  scenes 
would  do  to  a  young  girl  naturally  so  delicate  and  sen- 
sitive, begging  him  to  take  some  action  to  discover 
the  author  of  such  wrong. 

Three  nights  later  three  violins,  a  flute,  a  guitar,  and 
a  hautboy  began  another  serenade.  This  time  the 
musicians  fled  toward  Montargis,  where  there  liappened 
then  to  be  a  company  of  comic  actors.  A  loud  and 
ringing  voice  called  out  as  they  left:  "To  the  daugh- 
ter of  the  regimental  bandsman  Mirouet."  By  this 
means  all  Nemours  came  to  know  the  profession  of 
Ursula's  father,  a  secret  the  old  doctor  had  sedulously 
kept. 

Savinien  did  not  go  to  Montargis.  He  received  in 
the  course  of  the  day  an  anonymous  letter  containing  a 
prophec}'  :  — 


Ursula.  289 

*'  You  will  never  marry  Ursula.  If  you  wish  her  to  live, 
give  her  up  at  once  to  a  man  who  loves  her  more  than  you 
love  her.  He  has  made  himself  a  musician  and  an  artist  to 
please  her,  and  he  would  rather  see  her  dead  than  let  her  be 
your  wife." 

The  doctor  came  to  Ursula  three  times  in  the  course 
of  that  day,  for  she  was  really  in  danger  of  death  from 
the  horror  of  this  mysterious  persecution.  Feeling 
that  some  infernal  hand  had  plunged  her  into  the  mire, 
the  poor  girl  lay  like  a  martyr  ;  she  said  nothing,  but 
lifted  her  eyes  to  heaven,  and  wept  no  more  ;  she  seemed 
awaiting  other  blows,  and  prayed  fervently. 

"  I  am  glad  I  cannot  go  down  into  the  salon,"  she 
said  to  Monsieur  Bongrand  and  the  abbé,  who  left  her 
as  little  as  possible  ;  "  Ae  would  come,  and  I  am  now 
unworthy  of  the  looks  with  which  he  blessed  me.  Do 
you  think  he  will  suspect  me?  " 

"If  Savinien  does  not  discover  the  author  of  these 
infamies  he  means  to  get  the  assistance  of  the  Paris 
police,"  said  Bongrand. 

"  Whoever  it  is  will  know  I  am  d^'ing,"  said  Ursula; 
"  and  will  cease  to  trouble  me." 

The  abbé,  Bongrand,  and  Savinien  were  lost  in  con- 
jectures and  suspicions.  Together  with  Tiennette,  La 
Bougival,  and  two  persons  on  whom  the  abbé  could 
rel}',  they  kept  the  closest  watch  and  were  on  their 
guard  night  and  day  for  a  week  ;  but  no  indiscretion 

19 


290  Ursula. 

could  betray  Goupil;  whose  machinations  were  known 
to  himself  only.  There  were  no  more  serenades  and 
no  letters,  and  little  by  little  the  watch  relaxed.  Bon- 
grand  thought  the  author  of  the  wrong  was  frightened  ; 
Savinien  believed  that  the  procureur  du  roi  to  whom  he 
had  sent  the  letters  received  by  Ursula  and  himself  and 
his  mother,  had  taken  steps  to  put  an  end  to  the 
persecution. 

The  armistice  was  not  of  long  duration,  however. 
When  the  doctor  had  checked  the  nervous  fever  from 
which  poor  Ursula  was  suffering,  and  just  as  she  was 
recovering  her  courage,  a  rope-ladder  was  found,  early 
one  morning  in  July,  attached  to  her  window.  The 
postilion  of  the  mail-post  declared  that  as  he  drove 
past  the  house  in  the  middle  of  the  night  a  small  man 
was  in  the  act  of  coming  down  the  ladder,  and  though 
he  tried  to  pull  up,  his  horses,  being  startled,  carried 
him  down  the  hill  so  fast  that  he  was  out  of  Nemours 
before  he  stopped  them.  Some  of  the  persons  who 
frequented  Dionis's  salon  attributed  these  manoeuvres  to 
the  Marquis  du  Rouvre,  then  much  hampered  in  means, 
for  Massin  held  his  notes  to  a  large  amount.  It  was 
said  that  a  prompt  marriage  of  his  daughter  to  Savinien 
would  save  the  Chateau  du  Rouvre  from  his  creditoi*s  ; 
and  Madame  de  Portenduère,  the  gossips  added,  would 
approve  of  anything  that  would  discredit  and  degrade 
Ursula  and  lead  to  this  marriage  of  her  son. 


Ursula.  291 

So  far  from  this  being  true,  the  old  lady  was  well- 
nigh  vanquished  by  the  sufferings  of  the  innocent  girl. 
The  abbé  was  so  painfully  overcome  by  this  act  of  in- 
fernal wickedness  that  he  fell  ill  himself  and  was  kept 
to  the  house  for  several  days.  Poor  Ursula,  to  whom 
this  last  insult  had  caused  a  relapse,  received  by  post  a 
letter  from  the  abbé,  which  was  taken  in  by  La  Bougival 
on  recognizing  the  handwriting.     It  was  as  follows  :  — . 

My  child,  —  Leave  Nemours,  and  thus  evade  the  malice 
of  your  enemies.  Perhaps  they  are  seeking  to  endanger 
Savinien's  life.  I  will  tell  you  more  when  I  am  able  to  go 
to  you.  Your  devoted  friend, 

Chaperon. 

"When  Savinien,  who  was  almost  maddened  by  these 
proceedings,  carried  this  letter  to  the  abbé,  the  poor 
priest  read  it  and  re-read  it  ;  so  amazed  and  horror- 
stricken  was  he  to  see  the  perfection  with  which  his 
own  handwriting  and  signature  were  imitated.  The 
dangerous  condition  into  which  this  last  atrocit}'  threw 
poor  Ursula  sent  Savinien  once  more  to  the  procureur 
du  roi  with  the  forged  letter. 

"  A  murder  is  being  committed  b}'  means  that  the 
law  cannot  touch,"  he  said,  "  upon  an  orphan  whom  the 
Code  places  in  your  care  as  legal  guardian.  What  is 
to  be   done  ?  " 

"If  you  can  find  an}-  means  of  repression,"  said  the 
official,    "I   will    adopt   them  ;    but   I    know  of  none. 


292  Ursiila. 

That  infamous  wretch  gives  the  best  advice.  Mademoi- 
selle Mirouët  must  be  sent  to  the  sisters  of  the  Adora- 
tion of  the  Sacred  Heart.  Meanwhile  the  commissary 
of  police  at  Fontainebleau  shall  at  my  request  author- 
ize you  to  carry  arms  in  your  own  defence.  I  have 
been  myself  to  Rouvre,  and  I  found  Monsieur  du 
Rouvre  justly  indignant  at  the  suspicions  some  of  the 
Nemours  people  have  put  upon  him.  Minoret,  the 
father  of  my  assistant,  is  in  treat}'  for  the  purchase  of 
the  estate.  Mademoiselle  du  Rouvre  is  to  marry  a  rich 
Polish  count  ;  and  Monsieur  du  Rouvre  himself  left  the 
neighborhood  the  day  I  saw  him,  to  avoid  arrest  for 
debt." 

Desire  Minoret,  when  questioned  by  his  chief,  dared 
not  tell  his  thought.  He  recognized  Goupil.  Goupil, 
he  fully  believed,  was  the  only  man  capable  of  carrying 
a  persecution  to  the  ver}'  verge  of  the  penal  code  with- 
out infringing  a  hair's-breadth  upon  it. 


Ursula.  293 


XVIII. 
A  TWO-FOLD   VENGEANCE. 

Impunity,  secrecy,  and  success  increased  Goupil's 
audacit3%  He  made  Massin,  who  was  completel}-  his 
dupe,  sue  the  Marquis  du  Rouvre  for  his  notes,  so  as  to 
force  him  to  sell  the  remainder  of  his  property  to 
Minoret.  Thus  prepared,  he  opened  negotiations  for 
a  practice  at  Sens,  and  then  resolved  to  strike  a  last 
blow  to  obtain  Ursula.  He  meant  to  imitate  certain 
young  men  in  Paris  who  owed  their  wives  and  their 
fortunes  to  abduction.  He  knew  that  the  services  he 
had  rendered  to  Minoret,  to  Massin,  and  to  Crémière, 
and  the  protection  of  Dionis  and  the  mayor  of  Nemours 
would  enable  him  to  hush  up  the  affair.  He  resolved 
to  throw  off  the  mask,  believing  Ursula  too  feeble  in 
the  condition  to  which  he  had  reduced  her  to  make  any 
resistance.  But  before  risking  this  last  throw  in  the 
game  he  thought  it  best  to  have  an  explanation  with 
Minoret,  and  he  chose  his  opportunity^  at  Rouvre,  where 
he  went  with  his  patron  for  the  first  time  after  the 
deeds  were  signed. 

Minoret  had  that  morning  received  a  confidential 
letter  from   his  son  asking  him  for  information  as  to 


294  Ursula. 

what  was  happening  in  connection  with  Ursula  ;  infor- 
mation that  he  desired  to  obtain  before  going  to 
Nemours  witli  the  procureur  da  roi  to  place  her  under 
shelter  from  these  atrocities  in  the  convent  of  the  Ador- 
ation. Desire  exhorted  his  father,  in  case  this  perse- 
cution should  be  the  work  of  any  of  their  friends,  to 
give  to  whoever  it  might  be  warning  and  good  advice  ; 
for  even  if  the  law  could  hot  punish  this  crime  it  would 
certainly  discover  the  truth  and  hold  it  over  the  delin- 
quent's head.  Minoret  had  now  attained  a  great  object. 
Owner  of  the  chateau  du  Rouvre,  one  of  the  finest  es- 
tates in  the  Gâtinais,  he  had  also  a  rent-roll  of  some 
forty  odd  thousand  francs  a  year  from  the  rich  domains 
which  surrounded  the  park.  He  could  well  afford  to 
snap  his  fingers  at  Goupil.  Besides,  he  intended  to 
live  on  the  estate,  where  the  sight  of  Ursula  would  no 
longer  trouble  him. 

"  My  boy,"  he  said  to  Goupil,  as  i\\Qy  walked  along 
the  terrace,  "  let  my  young  cousin  alone,  now." 

"Pooh!"  said  the  clerk,  unable  to  imagine  what 
such   capricious  conduct  meant. 

"  Oh  !  I  'm  not  ungrateful  ;  yon  have  enabled  me  to 
get  this  fine  brick  château  with  the  stone  copings 
(which  could  n't  be  built  now  for  two  hundred  thousand 
francs)  and  those  farms  and  preserves  and  the  park  and 
gardens  and  woods,  all  for  two  hundred  and  eighty 
thousand   francs.     No,  I'm  not  ungrateful;    I'll  give 


Ursula.  295 

you  ten  per  cent,  twent}-  thousand  francs,  for  j'our  ser- 
vices, and  30U  can  bu}'  a  sheriff's  practice  in  Nemours. 
I  '11  guarantee  you  a  marriage  with  one  of  Crémière's 
daughters,  the  eldest." 

"  The  one  who  talks  piston  !  "  cried  Goupil. 

"  She  '11  have  thirty  tliousand  francs,"  replied  Mino- 
ret.  "  Don't  you  see,  xnj  dear  boy,  that  you  are  cut 
out  for  a  sheriff,  just  as  I  was  to  be  a  post  master? 
People  should  keep  to  their  vocation." 

"Very  well,  then,"  said  Goupil,  falling  from  the 
pinnacle  of  his  hopes;  "here's  a  stamped  cheque; 
write  me  an  order  for  twenty  thousand  francs  ;  I  want 
the  mone}^  in  hand  at  once." 

Minoret  had  eighteen  thousand  francs  b}'  him  at  that 
moment  of  which  his  wife  knew  nothing.  He  thought 
the  best  wa}'  to  get  rid  of  Goupil  was  to  sign  the  draft. 
The  clerk,  seeing  the  flush  of  seignorial  fever  on  the 
face  of  the  imbecile  and  colossal  Machiavelli,  threw  him 
an  "au  revoir,"  b}"  way  of  farewell,  accompanied  with 
a  glance  which  would  have  made  any  one  but  an  idiotic 
parvenu,  lost  in  contemplation  of  the  magnificent  château 
built  in  the  style  in  vogue  under  Louis  XIII.,  tremble  in 
his  shoes. 

"Are  not  yon  going  to  wait  for  me?"  he  cried, 
observing  that  Goupil  was  going  away  on   foot. 

"You'll  find  me  on  your  path,  never  fear,  papa 
Minoret,"  replied  Goupil,  alhirst  for  vengeance  and  re- 


296  Ursula. 

solved  to  know  the  meaning  of  the  zigzags  of  INIinoret's 
strange  conduct. 

Since  the  day  when  the  last  vile  calumny  had  sullied 
her  life  Ursula,  a  pre}'  to  one  of  those  inexplicable 
maladies  the  seat  of  which  is  in  the  soul,  seemed  to  be 
rapidly  nearing  death.  She  was  deathly  pale,  speaking 
only  at  rare  intervals  and  then  in  slow  and  feeble 
words  ;  everything  about  her,  her  glance  of  gentle  in- 
difference, even  the  expression  of  her  forehead,  all 
revealed  the  presence  of  some  consuming  thought.  She 
was  thinking  how  the  ideal  wreath  of  chastit}',  with 
which  throughout  all  ages  the  Peoples  crowned  their 
virgins,  had  fallen  from  her  brow.  She  heard  in  the 
void  and  in  the  silence  the  dishonoring  words,  the 
malicious  comments,  the  laughter  of  the  little  town. 
The  trial  was  too  heavy,  her  innocence  was  too  delicate 
to  allow  her  to  survive  the  murderous  blow.  She  com- 
plained no  more  ;  a  sorrowful  smile  was  on  her  lips  ; 
her  ej'es  appealed  to  heaven,  to  the  Sovereign  of  angels, 
against  man's  injustice. 

When  Goupil  reached  Nemours,  Ursula  had  just 
been  carried  down  from  her  chamber  to  the  ground  floor 
in  the  arms  of  La  Bougival  and  the  doctor.  A  great 
event  was  about  to  take  place.  When  Madame  de 
Portenduère  became  reallj-  aware  that  the  girl  was 
d3àng  like  an  ermine,  though  less  injured  in  her  honor 
than  Clarissa  Harlowe,  she  resolved  to  go  to  her  and 


Ursula.  297 

comfort  her.  The  sight  of  her  son's  anguish,  who  dur- 
ing the  whole  preceding  night  had  seemed  beside  him- 
self, made  the  Breton  soul  of  the  old  woman  3ield. 
Moreover,  it  seemed  worthy  of  her  own  dignit}-  to 
revive  the  courage  of  a  girl  so  pure,  and  she  saw  in  her 
visit  a  counterpoise  to  all  the  evil  done  by  the  little 
town.  Her  opinion,  surel}'  more  powerful  than  that  of 
the  crowd,  ought  to  carry  with  it,  she  thought,  the  in- 
fluence of  race.  This  step,  which  the  abbé  came  to 
announce,  made  so  great  a  change  in  Ursula  that  tlie 
doctor,  who  was  about  to  ask  for  a  consultation  of 
Parisian  doctors,  recovered  hope.  They  placed  her  on 
her  uncle's  sofa,  and  such  was  the  character  of  her 
beauty  that  as  she  lay  there  in  her  mourning  garments, 
pale  from  suffering,  she  was  more  exquisitel}-  lovely 
than  in  the  happiest  hours  of  her  life.  When  Savinien, 
with  his  mother  on  his  arm,  entered  the  room  she 
colored  vivid!}-. 

"  Do  not  rise,  m}'  child,"  said  the  old  lad}-  impera- 
tiveh"  ;  "  weak  and  ill  as  I  am  myself,  I  wished  to  come 
and  tell  you  my  feelings  about  what  is  happening.  I 
respect  you  as  the  purest,  the  most  religious  and  excel- 
lent girl  in  the  Gâtinais  ;  and  I  think  you  worthy  to 
make  the  happiness  of  a  gentleman." 

At  first  poor  Ursula  was  unable  to  answer  ;  she  took 
the  withered  hands  of  Savinien's  mother  and  kissed  them. 

"  Ah,  madame,"  she  said  in  a  faltering  voice,  "  1  should 


208  Ursula. 

never  have  had  the  boldness  to  think  of  rising  above 
m}-  condition  if  1  had  not  been  encouraged  by  promises  ; 
mv  onl}'  claim  was  that  of  an  affection  without  bounds  ; 
but  now  thcv  have  found  the  means  to  sei)arate  nic 
from  him  I  love,  —  they  have  made  me  unworthy  of 
him.  Never  !  "  she  cried,  with  a  ring  in  her  voice  which 
painfully  affected  those  about  her,  "  never  will  I  con- 
sent to  give  to  any  man  a  degraded  hand,  a  stained 
reputation.  I  loved  too  well, — yes,  I  can  admit  it  in 
my  present  condition,  —  I  love  a  creature  almost  as  I 
love  God,  and  God  —  " 

"  Hush,  my  child!  do  not  calumniate  God.  Come, 
9711/  daur/hter"  said  the  old  lady,  making  an  effort,  ''  do 
not  exaggerate  the  harm  done  by  an  infamous  joke  in 
which  no  one  believes.  I  give  you  mv  word,  you  will 
live  and  you  shall  be  happy." 

"  We  shall  be  happy  !  "  cried  Savinien,  kneeling  be- 
side Ursula  and  kissing  her  hand;  "my  mother  has 
called  you  her  daurjhter." 

"  P^nough,  enough,"  said  the  doctor  feeling  his 
patient's  pulse;    "do  not  kill  her  with  joy." 

At  tliat  moment  Goupil,  who  found  the  street  door 
ajar,  opened  that  of  the  little  salon,  and  showed  his 
hideous  face  blazing  with  thoughts  of  vengeance  which 
had  crowded  into  his  mind  as  he  hurried  along. 

"  Monsieur  de  Portenduère,"  he  said,  in  a  voice 
like  the  hissing  of  a  viper  forced  from  its  hole. 


Ursula.  299 

"What  do  j-ou  want?"  said  Savinien,  rising  from 
his  knees. 

"  I  have  a  word  to  saj  to  j'ou." 

Saxinien  left  the  room,  and  Goupil  took  him  into  the 
little  court3'ard. 

"  Swear  to  me  b}'  Ursula's  life,  by  30ur  honor  as  a 
gentleman,  to  do  by  me  as  if  I  had  never  told  3'ou  what 
I  am  about  to  tell.  Do  this,  and  I  will  reveal  to  3'OU 
the  cause  of  the  persecutions  directed  against  Made- 
moiselle Mirouet." 

"  Can  I  put  a  stop  to  them?  " 

"  Yes." 

*'  Can  I  avenge  them  ?  " 

"  On  their  author,  yes  — on  his  tool,  no." 

"AVliynot?" 

"  Because  —  I  am  the  tool." 

Savinien  turned  pale. 

*'  I  have  just  seen  Ursula —  "  said  Goupil. 

"Ursula?"  said  tlie  lover,  looking  fixedly  at  the 
clerk. 

"  Mademoiselle  Mirouet,"  continued  Goupil,  made 
respectful  by  Savinion's  tone  ;  "  and  I  would  undo  with 
my  blood  the  wrong  that  has  been  done  ;  I  repent  of  it. 
If  you  were  to  kill  me,  in  a  duel  or  otherwise,  what 
good  would  my  blood  do  you?  can  you  drink  it?  At 
this  moment  it  would   poison  you." 

The  cold  reasoning  of  the  man,  together  with  a  feel- 


300  Ursula. 

iug  of  eager  curiosity,  calmed  Savinien's  anger.  He 
fixed  his  ej'es  on  Goupil  with  a  look  which  made  that 
moral  deformity  writhe. 

"  Who  set  you  at  this  work?  "  said  the  young  man. 

"  Will  you  swear?  " 

"  What,  — to  do  you  no  harm?" 

"  I  wish  that  you  and  Mademoiselle  Mirouët  should 
forgive  me." 

"  She  will  forgive  3'ou,  —  I,  never  !  " 

"  But  at  least  you  will  forget?" 

What  terrible  power  the  reason  has  when  it  is  used  to 
further  self-interest.  Here  were  two  men,  longing  to 
tear  one  another  in  pieces,  standing  in  that  courtyard 
within  two  inches  of  each  other,  compelled  to  talk 
together  and  united   hy  a  single  sentiment. 

"  I  will  forgive  you,  but  I  shall  not  forget." 

"  The  agreement  is  off,"  said  Goupil  coldl}'.  Savi- 
nien  lost  patience.  He  applied  a  blow  upon  the  man's 
face  which  echoed  through  the  courtj-ard  and  nearly 
knocked  him  down,  making  Savinien  himself  stagger. 

"It  is  onl}'  what  I  deserve,"  said  Goupil,  "for 
committing  such  a  folly.  I  thought  you  more  noble 
than  you  are.  You  have  abused  the  advantage  I  gave 
you.  You  are  in  my  power  now,"  he  added  with  a  look 
of  hatred. 

"  You  are  a  murderer  !  "  said  Savinien. 

"  No  more  than  a  dagger  is  a  murderer." 


Ursula.  301 

"  I  beg  j'our  pardon,"  said  Savinien. 

"Are  you  revenged  enough?"  said  Goupil,  with 
ferocious  irony;  "will  j'ou  stop  here?" 

"  Reciprocal  pardon  and  forgetfulness,"  replied 
Savinien. 

"  Give  me  your  hand,"  said  the  clerk,  holding  out 
his  own. 

"It  is  3'ours,"  said  Savinien,  swallowing  the  shame 
for  Ursula's  sake.  "Now  speak;  who  made  you  do 
this  thing?" 

Goupil  looked  into  the  scales  as  it  were  ;  on  one  side 
was  Savinien's  blow,  on  the  other  his  hatred  against 
Minoret.  For  a  second  he  was  undecided  ;  then  a 
voice  said  to  him:  "You  will  be  notary!"  and  he 
answered  :  — 

"Pardon  and  forgetfulness?  Yes,  on  both  sides, 
monsieur  —  " 

"  Who  is  persecuting  Ursula?"  persisted  Savinien. 

"  Minoret.  He  would  have  liked  to  see  her  buried. 
Why?  I  can't  tell  30U  that  ;  but  we  might  find  out  the 
reason.  Don't  mix  me  up  in  all  this  ;  I  could  do  nojth- 
ing  to  help  you  if  the  others  distrusted  me.  Instead  of 
annoying  Ursula  I  will  defend  her  ;  instead  of  serving 
Minoret  I  will  trj'  to  defeat  his  schemes.  I  live  only 
to  ruin  him,  to  destroy  him —  I'll  crush  him  under 
foot,  I  '11  dance  on  his  carcass,  I  '11  make  his  bones  into 
dominoes  !      To-morrow,  every  wall   in  Nemours    and 


302  Ursula. 

Fontainebleau  and  Rouvre  shall  blaze  with  the  letters, 
Minoret  is  a  thief/  Yes,  I  '11  burst  him  like  a  gun  — 
There  !  we  're  allies  now  b}'  the  imprudence  of  that  out- 
break !  If  you  choose  I  '11  beg  Mademoiselle  Mirouët's 
pardon  and  tell  her  I  curse  the  madness  which  impelled 
me  to  injure  her.  It  may  do  her  good  ;  the  abbé  and 
the  justice  are  both  there  ;  but  Monsieur  Bongrand  must 
promise  on  his  honor  not  to  injure  my  career.  I  have 
a  career  now." 

"  Wait  a  minute  ;  "  said  Savinien,  bewildered  b}'  the 
revelation. 

"  Ursula,  my  child,"  he  said,  returning  to  the  salon, 
"  the  author  of  all  your  troubles  is  ashamed  of  his 
work  ;  he  repents  and  wishes  to  ask  your  pardon  in 
presence  of  these  gentlemen,  on  condition  that  all  be 
forgotten." 

"What!  Goupil?"  cried  the  abbé,  the  justice,  and 
the  doctor,   all  together. 

"Keep  his  secret,"  said  Ursula,  putting  a  finger  on 
her  lips. 

Goupil  heard  the  words,  saw  the  gesture,  and  was 
touched- 

"  Mademoiselle,"  he  said  in  a  troubled  voice,  "  I 
wish  that  all  Nemours  could  hear  me  tell  3"ou  that  a 
fatal  passion  has  bewildered  my  brain  and  led  me  to 
commit  a  crime  punishable  b}'  the  blame  of  honest  men. 
What  I  say  now  I  would  be  willing  to  say  everywhere, 


Ursula.  303 

deploring  the  harm  done  by  such  miserable  tricks  — 
which  may  have  hastened  your  happiness,"  he  added, 
rather  maliciously,  "  for  I  see  that  Madame  de  Porten- 
duère  is  with  3'ou." 

"That  is  all  very  well,  Goupil,"  said  the  abbé. 
"  Mademoiselle  forgives  you  ;  but  3'ou  must  not  forget 
that  you  came  near  being  her  murderer." 

"Monsieur  Bongrand,"  said  Goupil,  addressing  the 
justice  of  peace.  "  I  shall  negotiate  to-night  for  Le- 
cœur's  practice  ;  I  hope  the  reparation  I  have  now 
made  will  not  injure  me  with  3'ou,  and  that  you  will 
back  my  petition  to  the  bar  and  the  ministiy." 

Bongrand  made  a  thoughtful  inclination  of  his  head  ; 
and  Goupil  left  the  house  to  negotiate  on  the  best  terms 
he  could  for  the  sheriff's  practice.  The  others  remained 
with  Ursula  and  did  their  best  to  restore  the  peace  and 
tranquillit}'  of  her  mind,  already  much  relieved  by 
Goupil's  confession. 

"  You  see,  my  child,  that  God  was  not  against  you," 
said  the  abbé. 

Minoret  came  home  late  from  Rouvre.  About  nine 
o'clock  he  was  sitting  in  the  Chinese  pagoda  digesting 
his  dinner  beside  his  wife,  with  whom  he  was  making 
plans  for  Desire's  future.  Désiré  had  become  very 
sedate  since  entering  the  magistrac}^  ;  he  worked  hard, 
and  it  was  not  unlikely  that  he  would  succeed  the  ^res- 
Qut  procureur  du  roi  at  Fontainebleau,  who,  they  said, 


304  Cfrsula. 

was  to  be  advanced  to  Meliin.  His  parents  felt  that 
the}'  must  find  him  a  wife, — some  poor  girl  belonging 
to  an  old  and  noble  family  ;  he  would  then  malce  his 
wa}'  to  the  magistrac}'  of  Paris,  Perhaps  the}'  could 
get  him  elected  deputy  from  Fontainebleau,  where  Zélie 
was  proposing  to  pass  the  winter  after  living  at  Rouvre 
for  the  summer  season.  Minoret,  inwardh'  congratu- 
lating himself  for  having  managed  his  affairs  so  well, 
no  longer  thought  or  cared  about  Ursula,  at  the  very 
moment  when  the  drama  so  heedlessl}^  begun  by  him 
was  closing  down  upon  him  in  a  terrible  manner. 

"  Monsieur  de  Portenduère  is  here  and  wishes  to 
speak  to  you,"  said  CabiroUe. 

"  Show  him  in,"  answered  Zélie. 

The  twilight  shadows  pi'evented  Madame  Minoret 
from  noticing  the  sudden  pallor  of  her  husband,  who 
shuddered  as  he  heard  Savinien's  boots  on  the  floor  of 
the  galler}',  where  the  doctor's  librar}-  used  to  be.  A 
vague  presentiment  of  danger  ran  through  the  robber's 
veins.  Savinien  entered  and  remained  standing,  with 
his  hat  on  Iiis  head,  his  cane  in  his  hand,  and  both 
hands  crossed  in  front  of  him,  motionless  before  the 
husband   and   wife, 

"  I  have  come  to  ascertain.  Monsieur  and  Madame 
Minoret,"  he  said,  "3'our  reasons  for  tormenting  in  an 
infamous  manner  a  3'oung  lady  who,  as  the  whole  town 
knows,  is  to  be  my  wife.     Why  have  3'ou  endeavored 


Ursula.  305 

to  tarnish  her  honor  ?  why  have  j'ou  wished  to  kill  her  ? 
wh}'  did  3-0U  deliver  her  over  to  Goupil's  insults  ?  — 
Answer  !  " 

"  How  absurd  3'ou  are,  Monsieur  Savinien,"  said 
Zelie,  "  to  come  and  ask  us  the  meaning  of  a  thing  we 
think  inexplicable.  I  bother  myself  as  little  about 
Ursula  as  I  do  about  the  year  one.  Since  Uncle  Min- 
oret  died  I  've  not  thought  of  her  more  than  I  do  of  my 
first  tooth.  I  've  never  said  one  word  about  her  to 
Goupil,  who  is,  moreover,  a  queer  rogue  whom  I 
would  n't  think  of  consulting  about  even  a  dog.  Wh}' 
don't  you  speak  up,  Minoret?  Are  you  going  to  let 
monsieur  box  your  ears  in  that  waj'  and  accuse  you  of 
wickedness  that 's  beneath  you  ?  As  if  a  man  with 
forty-eight  thousand  francs  a  3*ear  from  landed  prop- 
ert}',  and  a  castle  fit  for  a  prince,  would  stoop  to 
such  things  !  Get  up,  and  don't  sit  there  like  a  wet 
rag  !  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  monsieur  means,"  said  Minoret 
in  his  squeaking  voice,  the  trembling  of  which  was  all  the 
more  noticeable  because  the  voice  was  clear.  '•  What 
object  could  I  have  in  persecuting  the  girl?  I  may 
have  said  to  Goupil  how  annoyed  I  was  at  seeing  her 
in  Nemours.  Mj'  son  Desire  fell  in  love  with  her,  and  I 
didn't  want  him  to  marr3'  her,  that 's  all." 

"  Goupil  has  confessed  ever3'thing,  Monsieur  Minoret." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  but  it  was  ten'ible, 
20 


306  Ursula. 

when  all  three  per'sons  examined  one  another.  Zélie 
saw  a  nervous  quiver  on  the  heavy  face  of  her  colossus. 

"  Though  3'ou  are  onl}^  insects,"  said  the  young  noble- 
man, "  I  will  make  you  feel  my  vengeance.  It  is  not 
from  you,  Monsieur  Minoret,  a  man  sixty-eight  years  of 
age,  but  from  your  son  that  I  shall  seek  satisfaction  for 
the  insults  offered  to  Mademoiselle  Mirouët.  The  first 
time  he  sets  his  foot  ni  Nemours  we  shall  meet.  He 
must  fight  me  ;  he  will  do  so,  or  be  dishonored  and 
never  dare  to  show  his  face  again.  If  he  does  not 
come  to  Nemours  I  shall  go  to  Fontainebleau,  for  I  will 
have  satisfaction.  It  shall  never  be  said  that  3'ou  were 
tamel}'  allowed  to  dishonor  a  defenceless  young  girl  —  " 

"  But  the  calumnies  of  a  Goupil  —  are  —  not —  "  be- 
gan Minoret. 

"  Do  you  wish  me  to  bring  him  face  to  face  with  3'ou? 
Believe  me,  3'ou  had  better  hush  up  this  afll'air  ;  it  lies 
between  you  and  Goupil  and  me.  Leave  it  as  it  is  ; 
God  will  decide  between  us  when  I  meet  30ur  son." 

"But  this  sha'n't  go  on!"  cried  Zélie.  "Do  vou 
suppose  I  '11  stand  by  and  let  Desire  fight  30U,  —  a  sailor 
whose  business  it  is  to  handle  swords  and  guns?  If 
3-ou  've  got  an3^  cause  of  complaint  against  Minoret, 
there 's  Minoret  ;  take  Minoret,  fight  Minoret  !  But  do 
3^ou  think  m3'  boy,  who,  b3'  3our  own  account,  knew 
nothing  of  all  this,  is  going  to  bear  the  brunt  of  it? 
No,  my  little  gentleman  !  somebody's  teeth  will  pin  3'our 


Ursula.  307 

legs  first  !  Come,  Mînoret,  clou't  stand  staring  there 
like  a  big  canary  ;  3'ou  are  in  your  own  house,  and  you 
allow  a  man  to  keep  his  hat  on  before  your  wife  !  I  say 
he  shall  go.  Now,  monsieur,  be  off  I  a  man's  house  is 
his  castle.  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  with  your 
nonsense,  but  show  me  your  heels,  and  if  you  dare 
touch  Desire  you  '11  have  to  answer  to  me,  —  you  and 
your  minx  Ursula." 

She  rang  the  bell  violenth'  and  called  to  the  servants. 

"  Remember  what  I  have  said  to  you,"  repeated 
Savinien  to  Minoret,  paying  no  attention  to  Zrlie's 
tirade.  Suspending  the  sword  of  Damocles  over  their 
heads,  he  left  the  room. 

"Now,  then,  Minoret,"  said  Zélie,  "j-ouwill  explain 
to  me  what  all  this  means.  A  young  man  does  n't  rush 
into  a  house  and  make  an  uproar  like  that  and  demand 
the  blood  of  a  family  for  nothing." 

"  It's  some  mischief  of  that  vile  Goupil,"  said  the 
colossus.  "  I  promised  to  help  him  bu}'  a  practice  if 
he  would  get  me  the  Rouvre  property  cheap.  I  gave 
him  ten  [3er  cent  on  the  cost,  twent}'  thousand  francs  in 
a  note,  and  I  suppose  he  isn't  satisfied." 

"  Yes,  but  wh}'  did  he  get  up  those  serenades  and 
the  scandals   against  Ursula?" 

"  He  wanted  to  marry  her." 

"  A  girl  without  a  penn}'  !  the  sly  thing  !  Now 
Minoret,  you  are  telling  me  lies,  and  j'ou  are  too  much 


308  Ursula. 

of  a  fool,  ID}'  son,  to  make  me  believe  them.  There  is 
something  under  all  this,  and  yo\x  are  going  to  tell  me 
what  it  is." 

"  There  's  nothing." 

"  Nothing?  I  tell  j'ou  you  lie,  and  I  shall  find  it 
out." 

"  Do  let  me  alone  !  " 

"  I  '11  turn  the  faucet  of  that  fountain  of  venom.  Gou- 
pil —  whom  you  *re  afraid  of —  and  we  '11  see  who  gets 
the  best  of  it  then." 

"  Just  as  you  choose." 

"  I  know  very  well  it  will  be  as  I  choose  !  and  what 
I  choose  first  and  foremost  is  that  no  harm  shall  come 
to  Desire.  If  an3'thing  happens  to  him,  mark  you,  1  '11 
do  something  that  ma}-  send  me  to  the  scaffold  —  and 
you,  you  have  n't  any  feeling  about  him  —  " 

A  quarrel  thus  begun  between  Minoret  and  his  wife 
was  sure  not  to  end  without  a  long  and  angry  strife. 
So  at  the  moment  of  his  self-satisfaction  the  foolish 
robber  found  his  inward  struggle  against  himself  and 
against  Ursula  revived  bj'  his  own  fault,  and  compli- 
cated with  a  new  and  terrible  adversar}'.  The  next 
day,  when  he  left  the  house  earl}'  to  find  Goupil  and  trj- 
to  appease  him  with  additional  money,  the  walls  were 
alread}'  placarded  with  the  words:  "Minoret  is  a 
thief."  All  those  whom  he  met  commiserated  him  and 
asked  him  who  was  the  author  of  the  anonymous  pla- 


Ursula.  309 

card.  Fortunately  for  him,  everybqdy  made  allowance 
for  his  equivocal  replies  by  reflecting  on  his  utter  stu- 
pidity ;  fools  get  more  advantage  from  their  weakness 
than  able  men  from  their  strength.  The  world  looks 
on  at  a  great  man  battling  against  fate,  and  does  not 
help  him,  but  it  supplies  the  capital  of  a  grocer  who 
may  fail  and  lose  all.  Why?  Because  men  Hke  to  feel 
superior  in  protecting  an  incapable,  and  are  displeased 
at  not  feeling  themselves  the  equal  of  a  man  of  genius. 
A  clever  man  would  have  been  lost  in  public  estimation 
had  he  stammered,  as  Minoret  did,  evasive  and  foolish 
answers  with  a  frightened  air.  Zélie  sent  her  servants 
to  efface  the  vindictive  words  wherever  they  were 
found  ;  but  the  effect  of  them  on  Minoret's  conscience 
still  remained. 

The  result  of  his  interview  with  his  assailant  was 
soon  apparent.  Though  Goupil  had  concluded  his  bar- 
gain with  the  sheriff  the  night  before,  he  now  impu- 
dently refused  to  fulfil  it. 

"  My  dear  Lecœur,"  he  said,  "  I  am  unexpectedly 
enabled  to  bu}-  up  Monsieur  Dionis's  practice  ;  I  am 
therefore  in  a  position  to  help  you  to  sell  to  others. 
Tear  up  the  agreement  ;  it 's  only  the  loss  of  two 
stamps',  —  here  are  sevent}-  centimes." 

Lecœur  was  too  much  afraid  of  Goupil  to  complain. 
All  Nemours  knew  before  night  that  Minoret  had  given 
Dionis  security  to  enable  Goupil  to  buy  his  practice. 


310  Ursula. 

The  latter  wrote  to  Savinien  denying  his  charges  against 
Minoret,  and  telling  the  young  nobleman  that  in  his 
new  position  he  was  forbidden  by  the  rules  of  the 
supreme  court,  and  also  by  his  respect  for  law,  to  fight 
a  duel.  But  he  warned  Savinien  to  treat  him  well  in 
future  ;  assuring  him  he  was  a  capital  boxer,  and  would 
break  his  leg  at  the  first  otTence. 

The  walls  of  Nemours  were  cleared  of  the  inscription  ; 
but  the  quarrel  between  Minoret  and  his  wife  went  on  ; 
and  Savinien  maintained  a  threatening  silence.  Ten 
daj's  after  these  events  the  marriage  of  Mademoiselle 
Massin,  the  elder,  to  the  future  notary  was  bruited  about 
the  town.  Mademoiselle  Massin  had  a  dowr}'  of  eighty 
thousand  francs  and  her  own  peculiar  ugliness  ;  Goupil 
had  his  deformities  and  his  practice  ;  the  union  seemed 
therefore  suitable  and  probable.  One  evenmg,  towards 
midnight,  two  unknown  men  seized  Goupil  in  the  street 
as  he  was  leaving  Massin's  house,  gave  him  a  sound 
beating,  and  disappeared.  The  notar}'  kept  the  matter 
a  profound  secret,  and  even  contradicted  an  old  woman 
who  saw  the  scene  from  her  window  and  thought  that 
she  recognized  him. 

These  great  little  events  were  careful!}'  studied  by 
Bongrand,  who  became  convinced  that  Goupil  held  some 
mj'sterious  power  over  Minoret,  and  he  determined  to 
find  out  its  cause. 


Ursula.  811 


XIX. 

APPARITIONS. 

Though  the  public  opinion  of  the  little  town  recog- 
nized Ursula's  perfect  innocence,  she  recovered  slowl}-. 
While  in  a  state  of  bodily  exhaustion,  which  left  her 
mind  and  spirit  free,  she  became  the  medium  of  phe- 
nomena the  effects  of  which  were  astounding,  and  of  a 
nature  to  challenge  science,  if  science  had  been  brought 
into  contact  with  them. 

Ten  days  after  Madame  de  Portenduère's  visit 
Ursula  had  a  dream,  with  all  the  characteristics  of 
supernatural  vision,  as  much  in  its  moral  aspects  as  in 
the,  so  to  speak,  ph3'sical  circumstances.  Her  god- 
father appeared  to  her  and  made  a  sign  that  she  should 
come  with  him.  She  dressed  herself  and  followed  him 
through  the  darkness  to  their  former  house  in  the  Rue 
des  Bourgeois,  where  she  found  everything  preciseh'  as 
it  was  on  the  da}'  of  her  godfather's  death.  The  old 
man  wore  the  clothes  that  were  on  him  the  evening 
before  his  death.  His  face  was  pale,  his  movements 
caused  no  sound  ;  nevertheless,  Ursula  heard  his  voice 
distinctl}',  though  it  was  feeble  and  as  if  repeated  b}-  a 
distant  echo.     The  doctor  conducted  his  child  as  for  as 


312  Ursula. 

the  Chinese  pagoda,  where  he  made  her  lift  the  marble 
top  of  the  little  Boule  cabinet  just  as  she  had  raised  it 
on  the  day  of  his  death  ;  but  instead  of  finding  nothing 
there  she  saw  the  letter  her  godfather  had  told  her  to 
fetch.  She  opened  it  and  read  both  the  letter  addressed 
to  herself  and  the  will  in  favor  of  Savinien.  Tlie  writ- 
ing, as  she  afterwards  told  the  abbé,  shone  as  if  traced 
by  sunbeams —  ''  it  burned  my  eyes,"  she  said.  When 
she  looked  at  her  uncle  to  thank  him  she  saw  the  old 
benevolent  smile  upon  his  discolored  lips.  Tlien,  m  a 
feeble  voice,  but  still  clearly,  he  told  her  to  look  at 
Minoret,  who  was  listening  in  the  corridor  to  what  he 
said  to  her  ;  and  next,  slipping  the  lock  of  tliu  libraiy 
door  with  his  knife,  and  taking  the  papers  from  the 
stud}-.  "With  his  right  hand  the  old  man  seized  his  god- 
daughter and  obliged  her  to  walk  at  the  i)ace  of  death 
and  follow  Minoret  to  his  own  house.  Ursula  crossed 
the  town,  entered  the  post  house  and  went  into  Zélie's 
old  room,  where  the  spectre  showed  her  Minoret  unfold- 
ing the  letters,  reading  them  and  burning  them. 

"  He  could  not,"  said  Ursula,  telling  her  dream  to  the 
abbé,  "  light  the  first  two  matches,  but  the  third  took 
fire  ;  he  burned  the  papers  and  buri-ed  their  remains  in 
the  ashes.  Then  m}-  godfather  brought  me  back  to 
our  house,  and  I  saw  Minoret-Levrault  slipping  into  the 
library,  where  he  took  from  the  third  volume  of  Pan- 
dects three  certificates  of  twelve  thousand  francs  each  ; 


Ursula.  313 

also,  from  the  preceding  volume,  a  number  of  bank- 
notes. '  He  is,'  said  my  godfather,  '  the  cause  of  all  the 
trouble  which  has  brought  you  to  the  verge  of  the  tomb  ; 
but  God  wills  that  you  shall  yet  be  happy.  You  will 
not  die  now  ;  you  will  marry  Savinien.  If  30U  love  me, 
and  if  you  love  Savinien,  I  charge  you  to  demand  your 
fortune  from  my  nephew.     Swear  it.'  " 

Resplendent,  as  though  transfigured,  the  spectre  had 
so  powerful  an  influence  on  Ursula's  soul  that  she  prom- 
ised all  her  uncle  asked,  hoping  to  put  an  end  to  the 
niglitmare.  She  woke  suddenl}*  and  found  herself 
standing  in  the  middle  of  her  bedroom,  facnig  her  god- 
father's portrait,  which  had  been  placed  there  during 
her  illness.  She  went  back  to  bed  and  fell  asleep  after 
much  agitation,  and  on  waking  again  she  remeniburcd 
all  the  particulars  of  this  singular  vision  ;  but  she  dared 
not  speak  of  it.  lier  judgment  and  lier  delicacy  both 
shrank  from  revealing  a  dream  the  end  and  object  of 
^vhich  was  her  pecuniar}'  benefit.  She  attributed  the 
vision,  not  unnaturall}-,  to  remarks  made  b}'  La  Bou- 
gival  the  preceding  evening,  when  the  old  woman  talked 
of  the  doctor's  intended  liberality  and  of  her  own  con- 
victions on  that  subject.  But  the  dream  returned,  with 
aggravated  circumstances  which  made  it  fearful  to  the 
poor  girl.  On  the  second  occasion  the  ic}'  hand  of 
her  godfather  was  laid  upon  her  shoulder,  causing  her 
the    most   horrible   distress,   an   indefinable  sensation- 


314  Ursula. 

"  You  must  obey  the  dead,"  he  said,  in  a  sepulchral 
voice.  "  Tears,"  said  Ursula,  relating  her  dreams,  "  fell 
from  his  white,  wide-open  eyes." 

The  third  time  the  vision  came  the  dead  man  took 
her  by  the  braids  of  her  long  hair  and  showed  her  the 
post  master  talking  with  Goupil  and  promising  money  if 
he  would  remove  Ursula  to  Sens.  Ursula  then  decided 
to  relate  the  three  dreams  to  the  Abbe  Chaperon. 

"Monsieur  l'abbé,"  she  said,  "do  you  beUeve  that 
the  dead  reappear?" 

"My  child,  sacred  histor}',  profane  history,  and 
modern  history,  have  much  testimonj'  to  that  effect  ; 
but  the  Church  has  never  made  it  an  article  of  faith  ; 
and  as  for  science,  in  France  science  laughs  at  the 
idea." 

"  What  do  you  believe? " 

"  That  the  power  of  God  is  infinite." 

"  Did  my  godfather  ever  speak  to  3'ou  of  such 
matters  ?  " 

"  Yes,  often.  He  had  entirely  changed  his  views  of 
them.  His  conversion,  as  he  told  me  at  least  twenty 
times,  dated  from  the  day  when  a  woman  in  Paris 
heard  you  praying  for  him  in  Nemours,  and  saw  the 
red  dot  3-ou  made  against  Saint-Savinien's  daj-  in  j-our 
almanac." 

Ursula  uttered  a  piercing  cry,  which  alarmed  the 
priest;  she  remembered  the  scene  when,  on  returning 


Ursula.  315 

to  Nemours,  her  godfather  read  her  soul,  and  took  awa}' 
the  almanac. 

"  If  that  is  so,"  she  said,  "  then  my  visions  are  pos- 
sibly true.  My  godfather  has  appeared  to  me,  as  Jesus 
appeared  to  his  disciples.  He  was  wrapped  in  yellow 
light  ;  he  spoke  to  me.  I  beg  you  to  saj^  a  mass  for  the 
repose  of  his  soul  and  to  implore  the  help  of  God  that 
these  visions  may  cease,  for  the}-  are  destro3-ing  me." 

She  then  related  the  three  dreams  with  all  their  de- 
tails, insisting  on  the  truth  of  what  she  said,  on  her  own 
freedom  of  action,  on  the  somnambulism  of  her  inner 
being,  which,  she  said,  detached  itself  from  her  bod}' 
at  the  bidding  of  the  spectre  and  followed  him  with 
perfect  ease.  The  thing  that  most  surprised  the  abbé, 
to  whom  Ursula's  veracity  was  known,  was  the  exact 
description  which  she  gave  of  the  bedroom  formerly 
occupied  b}'  Zelie  at  the  post  bouse,  where  Ursula  had 
never  entered  and  about  which  no  one  had  ever  spoken 
to  her. 

"  By  what  means  can  these  singular  apparitions  take 
place?"  asked  Ursula.  "What  did  my  godfather 
think?" 

"  Your  godfather,  my  dear  child,  argued  by  hypothe- 
sis. He  recognized  the  possibilit}'  of  a  spiritual  world, 
a  world  of  ideas.  If  ideas  are  of  man's  creation,  if 
they  subsist  in  a  life  of  their  own,  they  must  have  forms 
which  our  external  senses  cannot  grasp,  but  which  are 


316  Ursula. 

perceptible  to  our  inward  senses  wlien  brouglit  under 
certain  conditions.  Thus  your  godfather's  ideas  might 
so  enfold  you  that  3'ou  would  clothe  them  with  his 
bodil}'  presence.  Then,  if  Minoret  really  committed 
those  actions,  they  too  resolve  themselves  into  ideas  ; 
for  all  action  is  the  result  of  man}-  ideas.  Now,  if 
ideas  live  and  move  in  a  spiritual  world,  your  spirit 
must  be  able  to  perceive  them  if  it  penetrates  that 
world.  These  phenomena  are  not  more  extraordinary 
than  those  of  memory  ;  and  those  of  memory  are  quite 
as  amazing  and  inexplicable  as  those  of  the  perfume  of 
plants  —  which  are  perhaps  the  ideas  of  the  plants." 

"  How  you  enlarge  and  magnif\'  the  world  !  "  ex- 
claimed Ursula.  "But  to  hear  the  dead  speak,  to  see 
them  walk,  act  —  do  you  think  it  possible  ?  " 

"  In  Sweden,"  replied  the  abbé,  "  Swedenborg  has 
proved  by  evidence  that  he  communicated  with  the 
dead.  But  come  with  me  into  the  library  and  you  shall 
read  in  the  life  of  the  famous  Due  de  Montmorency, 
beheaded  at  Toulouse,  and  who  certainly  was  not  a  man 
to  invent  foolish  tales,  an  adventure  very  like  yours, 
which  happened  a  hundred  years  earlier  at  Cardan." 

Ursula  and  the  abbé  went  upstairs,  and  the  good  man 
hunted  up  a  little  edition  in  12mo,  printed  in  Paris  in 
1666,  of  the  "  History  of  Henri  de  Montmorcnc}'," 
written  by  a  priest  of  that  period  who  had  known  the 
prince. 


Ursula.  317 

"  Read  it,"  said  the  abbé,  giving  Ursula  the  volume, 
which  he  had  opened  at  the  175th  page.  "  Your  god- 
father often  re-read  that  passage,  —  and  see  !  here 's  a 
little  of  his  snuff  in  it.' 

"  And  he  not  here  !  "  said  Ursula,  taking  the  volume 
to  read  the  passage. 

"  The  siege  of  Privât  was  remarkable  for  the  loss  of  a 
great  number  of  officers.  Two  brigadier-generals  died  there' 
—  namely,  the  Marquis  d'Uxelles,  of  a  wound  received  at 
the  outposts,  and  the  Marquis  de  Portes,  from  a  musket-shot 
through  the  head.  The  day  the  latter  was  killed  he  was  to 
have  been  made  a  marshal  of  France.  About  the  moment 
when  the  marquis  expired  the  Due  de  Montmorency,  who 
was  sleeping  in  his  tent,  was  awakened  by  a  voice  like  that 
of  the  marquis  bidding  him  farewell.  The  affection  he  felt 
for  a  friend  so  near  to  him  made  him  attribute  the  ilhision 
of  this  dream  to  the  force  of  his  own  imagination  ;  and 
owing  to  the  fatigues  of  the  night,  which  he  had  spent,  ac- 
cording to  his  custom,  in  the  trenches,  he  fell  asleep  once 
more  without  any  sense  of  dread.  But  the  same  voice  dis- 
turbed him  again,  and  the  phantom  obliged  him  to  wake  up 
and  listen  to  the  same  words  it  had  said  as  it  first  passed. 
The  duke  then  recollected  that  he  had  heard  the  philosopher 
Pitrat  discourse  on  the  possibility  of  the  separation  of  the 
soul  from  the  body,  and  that  he  and  the  marquis  had  agreed 
that  the  first  who  died  should  bid  adieu  to  the  other.  On 
which,  not  beiijg  able  to  restrain  his  fears  as  to  the  truth  of 
this  warning,  he  sent  a  servant  to  the  marquis's  quarters, 
which  were  distant  fi'om  his.  But  before  the  man  could  get 
back,  the  king  sent  to  inform  the  duke,  by  persons  fitted  to 
console  him,  of  the  great  loss  he  had  sustained. 


318  Ursula. 

"  I  leave  learned  men  to  discuss  the  cause  of  this  event, 
which  I  have  frequently  heard  the  Due  de  Montmorency 
relate  ;  I  think  that  the  truth  and  singularity  of  the  fact 
itself  ought   to  be  recorded  and  preserved." 

"'  If  all  this  is  so,"  said  Ursula,  "  what  ought  I  to 
do?" 

"  M}"  child,"  said  the  abbé,  "it  concerns  matters  so 
important,  and  which  may  prove  so  profitable  to  30U, 
that  3'ou  ought  to  keejD  absolutely  silent  about  it.  Now 
that  you  have  confided  to  me  the  secret  of  these  ap- 
paritions perhaps  the}'  may  not  return.  Besides,  you 
are  now  strong  enough  to  come  to  church  ;  well,  then, 
come  to-morrow  and  thank  God  and  pray  to  him  for 
the  repose  of  your  godfather's  soul.  Feel  quite  sure 
that  you  have  entrusted  your  secret  to  prudent  hands." 

"  If  you  knew  how  afraid  I  am  to  go  to  sleep,  — 
what  glances  m}'  godfather  gives  me  !  The  last  time 
he  caught  hold  of  m}-  dress  —  I  awoke  with  my  face  all 
covered  with  tears." 

"Be  at  peace;  he  will  not  come  again,"  said  the 
priest. 

Without  losing  a  moment  the  Abbé  Chaperon  went 
straight  to  Minoret  and  asked  for  a  few  moments  niter- 
view  in  the  Chinese  pagoda,  requesting  that  they  might 
be  entirelj'  alone. 

"  Can  any  one  hear  us?  "  he  asked. 

"  No  one,"  replied  Minoret. 


Ursula.  319 

"  Monsieur,  m}'  character  must  be  known  to  you," 
said  the  abbé,  fastening  a  gentle  but  attentive  look  on 
Minoret's  face.  "I  have  to  speak  to  \o\x  of  serious 
and  extraordinary  matters,  which  concern  yon,  and 
about  which  you  ma}-  be  sure  that  I  shall  keep  the 
profoundest  secrecy  ;  but  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  do 
otherwise  than  give  you  this  information.  While  j'our 
uncle  lived,  there  stood  there,"  said  the  priest,  pointing 
to  a  certain  spot  in  the  room,  "•  a  small  buffet  made  by 
Boule,  with  a  marble  top  "  (Minoret  turned  livid),  "  and 
beneath  the  marble  your  uncle  placed  a  letter  for 
Ursula  —  "  The  abbé  then  went  on  to  relate,  without 
omitting  the  smallest  circumstance,  Minoret's  conduct 
to  Minoret  himself.  When  the  late  post  master  heard 
the  detail  of  the  two  matches  refusing  to  light  he  felt 
his  hair  begin  to  writhe  upon  his  skull. 

"  Who  invented  such  nonsense?  "  he  said,  in  a  stran- 
gled voice,  when  the  tale  ended. 

"  The  dead  man  himself." 

This  answer  made  Minoret  tremble,  for  he  himself 
had  dreamed  of  the  doctor. 

"  God  is  very  good,  Monsieur  l'abbé,  to  do  miracles 
for  me,"  he  said,  danger  inspiring  him  to  make  the  sole 
jest  of  his  life. 

'*  All  that  God  does  is  natural,"  replied  the  priest. 

"Your  phantoms  don't  frighten  me,"  said  the  co- 
lossus, recovering  his  coolness. 


320  Ursula. 

"  I  did  not  come  to  frighten  3'ou,  for  I  shall  never 
speak  of  this  to  an^'  one  in  the  world,"  said  the  abbe. 
"  You  alone  know  the  truth.  The  matter  is  between 
you  and  God." 

"  Come  now,  Monsieur  l'abbé,  do  you  reall}'  think 
me  capable  of  such  a  horrible  abuse  of  confidence  ?  " 

"  I  believe  only  in  crimes  which  are  confessed  to  me, 
and  of  which  the  sinner  repents,"  said  the  priest,  in  an 
apostolic  tone. 

'  '  Crime  ?  "  cried  Minoret. 

"  A  crime  frightful  in  its  consequences." 

"  What  consequences?  " 

"In  the  fact  that  it  escapes  human  justice.  The 
crimes  which  are  not  expiated  here  below  will  be 
punished  in  another  world.  God  himself  avenges 
innocence." 

"  Do  you  think  God  concerns  himself  with  such 
trifles?" 

"  If  he  did  not  see  the  worlds  in  all  their  details  at  a 
glance,  as  3-ou  take  a  landscape  into  your  e^e,  he  would 
not  be  God." 

"Monsieur  l'abbé,  will  3'Ou  give  me  3'our  word  of 
honor  that  you  have  had  these  facts  from  my  uncle  ?  " 

"  Your  uncle  has  appeared  three  times  to  Ursula  and 
has  told  them  and  repeated  them  to  her.  Exhausted 
by  such  visions  she  revealed  them  to  me  privately  ;  she 
considers  them  so  devoid  of  reason  that  she  will  never 


Ursula.  321 

speak  of  them.     You  ma}'  make  3'ourself  easy  on  that 
point." 

"  I  am  eas}'  on  all  points,  Monsieur  Chaperon." 
"  I  hope  you  are,"  said  the  old  priest.  "  Even  if  I 
considered  these  warnings  absurd,  I  should  still  feel 
bound  to  inform  you  of  them,  considering  the  singular 
nature  of  the  details.  You  are  an  honest  man,  and  3'ou 
have  obtained  your  handsome  fortune  in  too  legal  a  way 
to  wish  to  add  to  it  b}'  theft.  Besides,  3'ou  are  an 
almost  primitive  man,  and  3'Ou  would  be  tortured  by 
remorse.  We  have  within  us,  be  we  savage  or  civil- 
ized, the  sense  of  what  is  right,  and  this  will  not  permit 
us  to  enjo}'  in  peace  ill-gotten  gains  acquired  against 
the  laws  of  the  societj'  in  which  we  live,  —  for  well- 
constituted  societies  are  modelled  on  the  system  God 
has  ordained  for  the  universe.  In  this  respect  societies 
have  a  divine  origin.  Man  does  not  originate  ideas,  he 
invents  no  form  ;  he  answers  to  the  eternal  relations 
that  surround  him  on  all  sides.  Therefore,  see  what 
happens  !  Criminals  going  to  the  scaffold,  and  having  it 
in  their  power  to  carry  their  secret  with  them,  are  im- 
pelled by  the  force  of  some  mysterious  power  to  make 
confessions  before  their  heads  are  taken  off.  There- 
fore, Monsieur  Minoret,  if  your  mind  is  at  ease,  I  go 
my  way  satisfied." 

Minoret  was  so  stupefied  that  he  allowed  the  abbé  to 
find  his  own  wa}-  out.     When  he  thought  himself  alone 

21 


322  Ursula. 

he  flew  into  the  fury  of  a  choleric  man  ;  the  strangest 
blasphemies  escaped  his  lips,  in  which  Ursula's  name 
was  mingled  with  odious  language. 

"  Wh}-,  what  has  she  done  to  you?  "  cried  Zélie,  who 
had  slipped  in  on  tiptoe  after  seeing  the  abbé  out  of 
the  house. 

For  the  first  and  only  time  in  his  life,  Minoret,  drunk 
with  anger  and  driven  to  extremities  b}-  his  wife's 
reiterated  questions,  turned  upon  her  and  beat  her  so 
violently  that  he  was  obliged,  when  she  fell  half-dead 
on  the  floor,  to  take  her  in  his  arms  and  put  her  to  bed 
himself,  ashamed  of  his  act.  He  was  taken  ill  and  the 
doctor  bled  him  twice  ;  when  he  again  appeared  in  the 
streets  everybody  noticed  a  great  change  in  him.  He 
walked  alone,  and  often  roamed  the  town  as  though 
uneas}^  When  an}'  one  addressed  him  he  seemed  pre- 
occupied in  mind,  he  who  had  never  before  had  two 
ideas  in  his  head.  At  last,  one  evening,  he  went  up 
to  Monsieur  Bongrand  in  the  Grand'Rue,  the  latter  be- 
ing on  his  way  to  take  Ursula  to  Madame  de  Porten- 
duere's,  where  the  whist  parties  had  begun  again. 

"  Monsieur  Bongrand,  I  have  something  important 
to  saj'  to  m}'  cousin,"  he  said,  taking  the  justice  b}'  the 
arm,  "and  I  am  very  glad  3'ou  should  be  present,  for 
you  can  advise  her." 

Thej'  found  Ursula  studying  ;  she  rose,  with  a  cold 
and  dignified  air,  as  soon  as  she  saw  Mmoret. 


Ursula.  323 

"  M}'  child,  Monsieur  Minoret  wants  to  speak  to  yow 
on  a  matter  of  business,"  said  Bongrand.  "  By  the 
bye,  don't  forget  to  give  me  your  certificates  ;  I  shall 
go  to  Paris  in  the  morning  and  will  draw  your  dividend 
and  La  Bougival's." 

"  Cousin,"  said  Minoret,  "  our  uncle  accustomed  3'ou 
to  more  luxury  than  you  have  now," 

"We  can  be  very  happy  with  very  little  mone}-," 
she  replied. 

"  I  thought  money  might  help  your  happiness,"  con- 
tinued Minoret,  "  and  I  have  come  to  offer  you  some, 
out  of  respect  for  the  memory  of  my  uncle." 

"  You  had  a  natural  way  of  showing  respect  for  him," 
said  Ursula,  sternl}-  ;  "  you  could  have  left  his  house  as 
it  was,  and  allowed  me  to  buy  it  ;  instead  of  that  you 
put  it  at  a  high  price,  hoping  to  find  some  hidden  treas- 
ure in  it." 

"  But,"  said  Minoret,  evidently  troubled,  "  if  you  had 
twelve  thousand  francs  a  year  3-ou  would  be  in  a  posi- 
tion to  marr\'  well." 

"  I  have  not  got  theai." 

"  But  suppose  I  give  them  to  3-ou,  on  condition  of 
your  buying  an  estate  in  Brittany  near  Madame  de 
Portenduère,  — you  could  then  marr}'  her  son." 

"  Monsieur  Minoret,"  said  Ursula,  "  I  have  no  claim 
to  that  money,  and  I  cannot  accept  it  from  ^-ou.  We 
are  scarcely  relations,  still  less  are  we  friends.     I  have 


324  Ursula. 

suffered  too  much  from  calumny  to  give  a  handle  for 
evil-speaking.  What  have  I  done  to  deserve  that 
mone^?  "What  reason  have  3'ou  to  make  me  such  a 
present  ?  These  questions,  which  I  have  a  right  to  ask, 
persons  will  answer  as  they  see  fit  ;  some  would  con- 
sider your  gift  the  reparation  of  a  wrong,  and,  as  such, 
I  do  not  choose  to  accept  it.  Your  uncle  did  not  bring 
me  up  to  ignoble  feelings.  I  can  accept  nothing  except 
from  friends,  and  I  have  no  friendship  for  30U." 

"Then  j'ou  refuse?"  cried  the  colossus,  into  whose 
head  the  idea  had  never  entered  that  a  fortune  could  be 
rejected. 

"  I  refuse,"  said  Ursula. 

"  But  what  grounds  have  3'Ou  for  offering  Mademoi- 
selle Ursula  such  a  fortune?  "  asked  Bongrand,  looking 
fixedly  at  Minoret.  "You  have  an  idea  —  have  y  on 
an  idea  ?  —  " 

"  Well,  3'es,  the  idea  of  getting  her  out  of  Nemours, 
so  that  my  son  may  leave  me  in  peace  ;  he  is  in  love 
with  her  and  wants  to  marr}-  her." 

"  Well,  we 'U  see  about  it,"  said  Bongrand,  settling 
his  spectacles.     "  Give  us  time  to  think  it  over." 

He  walked  home  with  Minoret,  applauding  the  solici- 
tude shown  by  the  father  for  his  son's  interests,  and 
slightl}'  blaming  Ursula  for  her  hasty  decision.  As 
soon  as  Minoret  was  within  his  own  gate  Bongrand 
went  to  the  post  house,  borrowed  a  horse  and  cabriolet, 


Ursula.  325 

and  started  for  Fontainebleau,  where  be  went  to  see 
the  deputy  procureur.,  and  was  told  that  he  was  spending 
the  evening  at  the  house  of  the  sub-prefect.  Bongrand, 
delighted,  followed  him  there.  Desire  was  pla^'ing  whist 
with  the  wife  of  the  procureur  du  roi.,  the  wife  of  the  sub- 
prefect,  and  the  colonel  of  the  regiment  ni  garrison. 

"  I  come  to  bring  3'ou  some  good  news,"  said  Bon- 
grand to  Desire;  "you  love  your  cousin  Ursula,  and 
the  marriage  can   be  arranged." 

"I  love  Ursula  Mirouét !  "  cried  Desire,  laughing. 
''  Where  did  3'ou  get  that  idea?  I  do  remember  seeing 
her  sometimes  at  the  late  Doctor  Minoret's  ;  she  cer- 
tainly is  a  beauty  ;  but  she  is  dreadfull}'  pious.  I 
certainly  took  notice  of  her  charms,  but  I  must  sa}'  I 
never  troubled  my  head  seriously  for  that  rather  insipid 
little  blonde,"  he  added,  smiling  at  the  sub-prefect's 
wife  (who  was  a  piquante  brunette  —  to  use  a  term  of 
the  last  century).  "You  are  dreaming,  mj'  dear  Mon- 
sieur Bongrand  ;  I  thought  every  one  knew  that  mj- 
father  was  lord  of  a  manor,  with  a  rent  roll  of  fort}'- 
eight  thousand  francs  a  year  from  lands  around  his 
château  at  Rouvre,  —  good  reasons  wh}'  I  should  not 
love  the  goddaughter  of  ni}'  late  great-uncle.  If  I  were 
to  marry  a  girl  without  a  penu}'  these  ladies  would 
consider  me  a  fool." 

"Have  you  never  tormented  your  father  to  let  you 
marry  Ursula  ?  " 


326  Ursula. 

"  Never." 

"You  hear  that,  monsieur?"  said  the  justice  to  the 
procureur  du  roi,  who  had  been  listening  to  the  con- 
versation, leading  hiin  aside  into  the  recess  of  a  window, 
where  they  remained  in  conversation  for  a  quarter  of 
an  hour. 

An  hour  later  Bongrand  was  back  in  Nemours,  at 
Ursula's  house,  whence  he  sent  La  Bougival  to  Minoret 
to  beg  his  attendance.     The  colossus  came  at  once. 

"  Mademoiselle  —  "  began  Bongrand,  addressing 
Minoret  as  he  entered  the  room. 

"  Accepts?  "  cried  Minoret,  interrupting  him. 

"  No,  not  yet,"  replied  Bongrand,  fingering  his 
glasses.  "I  had  scruples  as  to  your  son's  feelings; 
for  Ursula  has  been  much  tried  lately  about  a  supposed 
lover.  We  know  the  importance  of  tranquillity.  Can 
3"ou  swear  to  me  that  your  son  truly  loves  her  and  that 
you  have  no  other  intention  than  to  preserve  our  dear 
Ursula  from  any  further  Goupilisms  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  '11  swear  to  that,"  cried  Minoret. 

"  Stop,  papa  Minoret,"  said  the  justice,  taking  one 
hand  from  the  pocket  of  his  trousers  to  slap  Minoret 
on  the  shoulder  (the  colossus  trembled)  ;  "  Don't  swear 
falsely." 

"  Swear  falsely?  " 

"  Yes,  either  you  or  jour  son,  who  has  just  sworn  at 
Fontainebleau,  in  presence  of  four   persons   and   the 


Ursula.  327 

procureur  du  roi,  that  he  has  never  even  thought  of 
liis  cousin  Ursula.  You  have  other  reasons  for  offering 
this  fortune.  I  saw  you  were  inventing  that  tale,  and 
went  myself  to  Fontainebleau  to  question  your  son." 

Minoret  was  dumbfounded  at  his  own  foil}*. 

"  But  Where's  the  harm,  Monsieur  Bongrand,  in  pro- 
posing to  a  3'oung  relative  to  help  on  a  marriage  which 
seems  to  be  for  her  happiness,  and  to  invent  pretexts 
to  conquer  her  reluctance  to  accept  the  money." 

Minoret,  whose  danger  suggested  to  him  an  excuse 
which  was  almost  admissible,  wiped  his  forehead,  wet 
with  perspiration. 

"  You  know  the  cause  of  my  refusal,"  said  Ursula; 
"  and  I  request  30U  never  to  come  here  again.  Though 
Monsieur  de  Portenduère  has  not  told  me  his  reason,  I 
know  that  he  feels  such  contempt  for  30U,  such  dislike 
even,  that  I  cannot  receive  you  in  m}-  house.  M3'  hap- 
piness is  m}'  onl}'  fortune,  —  I  do  not  blush  to  sa}-  so  ; 
I  shall  not  risk  it.  Monsieur  de  Portenduère  is  onlj* 
waiting  for  mj'  majority  to  marr}'  me." 

"  Then  the  old  saw  that  '  Money  does  all'  is  a  lie," 
said  Minoret,  looking  at  the  justice  of  peace,  whose 
observing  eyes  annoyed  him  much. 

He  rose  and  left  the  house  but,  once  outside,  he  found 
the  air  as  oppressive  as  in  the  little  salon. 

"  There  must  be  an  end  put  to  this,"  he  said  to  him- 
self as  he  re-entered  liis  own  home. 


328  Ursula. 

When  Ursula  came  clown,  bringing  her  certificates 
and  those  of  La  Bougival,  she  found  Monsieur  Bon- 
grand  walking  up  and  down  the  salon  with  great 
strides. 

"  Have  you  no  idea  what  the  conduct  of  that  huge 
idiot  means?"  he   said. 

"  None  that  I  can  tell,"  she  replied. 

Bongrand  looked  at  her  with  inquiring  surprise. 

"Then  we  have  the  same  idea,"  he  said.  "Here, 
keep  the  number  of  your  certificates,  in  case  I  lose 
them  ;  yon  should  alwa3-s  take  that  precaution." 

Bongrand  himself  wrote  the  number  of  the  two  cer- 
tificates, hers  and  that  of  La  Bougival,  and  gave  them 
to  her. 

"  Adieu,  my  child,  I  shall  be  gone  two  days,  but  3'ou 
will  see  me  on  the  third." 

That  night  the  apparition  appeared  to  Ursula  in  a 
singular  manner.  She  thought  her  bed  was  in  the 
cemetery  of  Nemours,  and  that  her  uncle's  grave  was 
at  the  foot  of  it.  The  white  stone,  on  which  she  read 
the  inscription,  opened,  like  the  cover  of  an  oblong 
album.  She  uttered  a  piercing  cr}',  but  the  doctoi-'s 
spectre  slowl}'  rose.  First  she  saw  his  yellow  head, 
with  its  fringe  of  white  hair,  which  shone  as  if  sur- 
rounded b}'  a  halo.  Beneath  the  bald  forehead  the 
e3'es  were  like  two  gleams  of  light  ;  the  dead  man  rose 
as  if  impelled  b}'  some  superior  force  or  will.     Ursula's 


Ursula.  329 

body  trembled  ;  her  flesh  was  like  a  burning  garment, 
and  there  was  (as  she  subsequently  said)  another 
self  moving  within  her  bodily  presence.  "Mere}'!" 
slie  cried,  "  mere}',  godfather!"  "It  is  too  late,"  he 
said,  in  the  voice  of  death,  —  to  use  the  poor  girl's  own 
expression  when  she  related  this  new  dream  to  the 
abbé.  '  '  He  has  been  warned  ;  he  has  paid  no  heed  to 
the  warning.  The  days  of  his  son  are  numbered.  If 
he  does  not  confess  all  and  restore  what  he  has  taken 
within  a  certain  time  he  must  lose  his  son,  who  will  die 
a  violent  and  horrible  death.  Let  him  know  this."  The 
spectre  pointed  to  a  line  of  figures  which  gleamed  upon 
the  side  of  the  tomb  as  if  written  with  fire,  and  said, 
"  There  is  his  doom."  When  her  uncle  la}'  down  again 
in  his  grave  Ursula  heard  the  sound  of  the  stone  fall- 
ing back  into  its  place,  and  immediatel}'  after,  in  the  dis- 
tance, a  strange  sound  of  horses  and  the  cries  of  men. 

The  next  day  Ursula  was  prostrate.  She  could  not 
rise,  so  terribly  had  the  dream  overcome  her.  She 
begged  her  nnrse  to  find  the  Abbé  Chaperon  and  bring 
him  to  her.  The  good  priest  came  as  soon  as  he  had 
said  mass,  but  he  was  not  surprised  at  Ursula's  revela- 
tion. He  believed  the  robbery  had  been  committed, 
and  no  longer  tried  to  explain  to  himself  the  abnormal 
condition  of  his  "little  dreamer."  He  left  Ursula  at 
once  and   went  directl}-  to  Minoret's. 

"  Monsieur    l'abbé,"    said    Zélie,    "  my    husband's 


330  Ursula. 

temper  is  so  soured  I  don't  know  what  he  mightn't 
do.  Until  now  he 's  been  a  child  ;  but  for  the  last  two 
months  he  's  not  the  same  man.  To  get  angr}'  enough 
to  strike  me  —  me,  so  gentle  !  There  must  be  some- 
thing dreadful  the  matter  to  change  him  like  that. 
You  '11  find  him  among  the  rocks  ;  he  spends  all  his 
time  there,  —  doing  what,  I  'd  like  to  know?  " 

In  spite  of  the  heat  (it  was  then  September,  1836), 
the  abbé  crossed  the  canal  and  took  a  path  which  led 
to  the  base  of  one  of  the  rocks,  where  he  saw  Minoret. 

"You  are  greatl}-  troubled,  Monsieur  Minoret,"  said 
the  priest  going  up  to  him.  "  You  belong  to  me 
because  you  suffer.  Unhappily,  I  come  to  increase 
your  pain.  Ursula  had  a  terrible  dream  last  night. 
Your  uncle  lifted  the  stone  from  his  grave  and  came 
forth  to  prophecy  a  great  disaster  in  A'our  famil}-.  I 
certainly  am  not  here  to  frighten  you  ;  but  3'ou  ought 
to  know  what  he  said  —  " 

"  I  can't  be  easy  anywhere,  Monsieur  Chaperon,  not 
even  among  these  rocks,  and  I  'm  sure  I  don't  want  to 
know  anything  that  is  going  on  in  another  world." 

"Then  I  will  leave  3'ou,  monsieur;  I  did  not  take 
this  hot  walk  for  pleasure,"  said  the  abbé,  mopping  his 
forehead. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  want  to  say?  "  demanded 
Minoret. 

"You  are  threatened  with  the  loss  of  your  son.     If 


Ursula.  331 

the  dead  man  told  things  that  3'ou  alone  know,  one 
must  needs  tremble  when  he  tells  things  that  no  one 
can  know  till  the}'  happen.  Make  restitution,  I  sa^', 
make  restitution.  Don't  damn  your  soul  for  a  little 
mone}'." 

"  Restitution  of  what?  " 

"  The  fortune  the  doctor  intended  for  Ursula.  You 
took  those  three  certificates  —  I  know  it  now.  You 
began  by  persecuting  that  poor  girl,  and  3'ou  end  by 
offering  her  a  fortune  ;  3'ou  have  stumbled  into  lies,  you 
have  tangled  yourself  up  in  this  net,  and  yo\i  are  taking 
false  steps  ever}'  day.  You  are  very  clumsy  and  un- 
skilful ;  3-our  accomphce  Goupil  has  served  you  ill  ;  he 
simply  laughs  at  30U.  Make  haste  and  clear  3'our  mind, 
for  you  are  watched  bj'  intelligent  and  penetrating  eyes, 
—  those  of  Ursula's  friends.  Make  restitution  !  and  if 
you  do  not  save  3'Our  son  (who  ma}^  not  really  be 
threatened),  you  will  save  j'our  soul,  and  you  will  save 
your  honor.  Do  3'ou  believe  that  in  a  societ}-  like 
ours,  in  a  little  town  like  this,  where  ever3-body's  e3'es 
are  everywhere  and  all  things  are  guessed  and  all 
things  are  known,  3'ou  can  long  hide  a  stolen  fortune? 
Come,  my  son,  an  innocent  man  would  n't  have  let  me 
talk  so  long." 

"  Go  to  the  devil  !  "  cried  Minoret.  "  I  don't  know 
what  you  all  mean  b3'  persecuting  me.  I  prefer  these 
stones  —  the3'  leave  me  in  peace." 


332  Ursula. 

"  Farewell,  then  ;  I  have  warned  you.  Neither  the 
poor  girl  nor  I  have  said  a  single  word  about  this  to 
an}-  living  person.  But  take  care  —  there  is  a  man  who 
has  his  e3'e  upon  3-ou.  May  God  have  pity  upon 
you  !  " 

The  abbé  departed  ;  presentl}'  he  turned  back  to 
look  at  Minoret.  The  man  was  holding  his  head  in  his 
hands  as  if  it  troubled  him  ;  he  was,  in  fact,  partly 
crazy.  In  the  first  place,  he  had  kept  the  three  certifi- 
cates because  he  did  not  know  what  to  do  with  them. 
He  dared  not  draw  the  money  himself  for  fear  it  should 
be  noticed  ;  he  did  not  wish  to  sell  them,  and  was  still 
trying  to  find  some  way  of  transferring  the  certificates. 
In  this  horrible  state  of  uncertainty  he  bethought  him 
of  acknowledging  all  to  his  wife  and  getting  her  advice. 
Zclie,  who  always  managed  matters  for  him  so  well,  she 
could  get  him  out  of  his  troubles.  The  three-per-cent 
Funds  were  now  selling  at  eight}'.  Restitution  !  why, 
that  meant,  with  arrearages,  giving  up  a  million  !  Give 
up  a  million,  when  there  was  no  one  who  could  know 
that  he  had  taken  it  !  — 

So  Minoret  continued  through  September  and  a 
part  of  October  irresolute  and  a  prey  to  his  torturing 
thoughts.     To  the  great  surprise  of  the  little  town  he 


Ursula.  333 


XX. 


REMORSE. 

An  alarming  circumstance  hastened  the  confession 
which  Minoret  was  inclined  to  make  to  Zelie  ;  the 
sword  of  Damocles  began  to  move  above  their  heads. 
Towards  the  middle  of  October  Monsieur  and  Madame 
Minoret  received  from  their  son  Désiré  the  following 
letter  :  — 

My  dear  Mother,  — If  I  have  not  been  to  see  you  since 
vacation,  it  is  partly  because  T  have  been  on  duty  during  the 
absence  of  my  chief  ;  but  also  because  I  knew  that  Monsieur 
de  Portenduère  was  waiting  my  arrival  at  Nemours,  to  j^ick 
a  quarrel  with  ine.  Tired,  perhaps,  of  seeing  his  vengeance 
on  our  family  delayed,  the  viscount  came  to  Fontainebleau, 
whei'e  he  had  appointed  one  of  his  Parisian  friends  to  meet 
him,  having  already  obtained  the  help  of  the  Vicomte  de 
Soulanges  commanding  the  troop  of  cavalry  here  in  garrison. 

He  called  upon  me,  very  politely,  accompanied  by  the  two 
gentlemen,  and  told  me  that  my  father  was  undoubtedly  the 
instigator  of  the  malignant  persecutions  against  Ursula 
Mirouet,  his  futiu'e  wife;  he  gave  me  proofs,  and  told  me  of 
Goupil's  confession  before  witnesses.  He  also  told  me  of 
my  father's  conduct,  first  in  refusing  to  pay  Gonpil  the  price 
agreed  on  for  his  wicked  invention,  and  next,  out  of  fear  of 


334  Ursula. 

Goupil's  malignity,  going  security  to  INIonsieur  Dionis  for  the 
price  of  his  practice  which  Goupil  is  to  have. 

The  viscount,  not  being  able  to  fight  a  man  sixty-seven 
years  of  age,  and  being  determined  to  have  satisfaction  for 
the  insults  offered  to  Ursula,  demanded  it  formally  of  me. 
His  determination,  having  been  well-weighed  and  considered, 
could  not  be  shaken.  If  I  refused,  he  was  resolved  to  meet 
me  in  society  before  persons  whose  esteem  I  value,  and  in- 
sult me  openly  In  France,  a  coward  is  unanimously 
scorned.  Besides,  the  motives  for  demanding  reparation 
should  be  explained  by  honorable  men.  He  said  he  was 
sorry  to  resort  to  such  extremities.  His  seconds  declared  it 
would  be  wiser  in  me  to  arrange  a  meeting  in  the  usual  man- 
ner among  men  of  honor,  so  that  Ursula  INIirouet  might  not 
be  known  as  the  cause  of  the  quarrel  -,  to  avoid  all  scandal  it 
was  better  to  make  a  journey  to  the  nearest  frontier.  In 
shorty  my  seconds  met  his  yesterday,  and  they  unanimously 
agreed  that  I  owed  him  reparation.  '  A  week  from  to-day  I 
leave  for  Geneva  witli  my  two  friends.  Monsieur  de  Porten- 
duère.  Monsieur  de  Soulanges,  and  Monsieur  de  Trailles  will 
meet  me  there. 

The  preliminaries  of  the  duel  are  settled  ;  we  shall  fight 
with  pistols  ;  each  fires  three  times,  and  after  that,  no 
matter  what  happens,  the  affair  terminates.  To  keep  this 
degrading  matter  from  public  knowledge  (for  I  find  it  im- 
possible to  justify  my  father's  conduct)  I  do  not  go  to  see 
you  now,  because  I  dread  the  violence  of  the  emotion  to 
which  you  would  yield  and  which  would  not  be  seemly.  If 
I  am  to  make  my  way  in  the  world  I  must  confoi-m  to  the 
rules  of  society.  If  the  son  of  a  viscount  has  a  dozen  reasons 
for  fighting  a  duel  the  son  of  a  post  master  has  a  hundred. 
I  shall  pass  the  night  in  Xemours  on  my  way  to  Geneva,  and 
I  will  bid  you  good-by  then. 


Ursula.  335 

After  the  reading  of  this  letter  a  scene  took  place 
between  Zélie  and  Minoret  which  ended  in  the  latter 
confessing  the  theft  and  relating  all  the  circumstances 
and  the  strange  scenes  connected  with  it,  even  Ursula's 
dreams.  The  million  fascinated  Zulie  quite  as  much  as 
it  did  Minoret. 

"  You  stay  quietly  here,"  Zélie  said  to  her  husband, 
without  the  slightest  remonstrance  against  his  folly. 
"  I  '11  manage  the  whole  thing.  We  '11  keep  the  monej-, 
and  Desire  shall  not  fight  a  duel." 

Madame  Minoret  put  on  her  bonnet  and  shawl  and 
carried  her  son's  letter  to  Ursula,  whom  she  found 
alone,  as  it  was  about  midday.  In  spite  of  her  assur- 
ance Zélie  was  discomfited  by  the  cold  look  which  the 
young  girl  gave  her.  But  she  took  herself  to  task  for 
her  cowardice  and  assumed  an  eas}'  air. 

"  Here,  Mademoiselle  Mirouët,  do  me  the  kindness  to 
read  that  and  tell  me  what  3-ou  think  of  it,"  she  cried, 
giving  Ursula  her  son's  letter. 

Ursula  went  through  various  conflicting  emotions  as 
she  read  the  letter,  which  showed  her  how  truly  she 
was  loved  and  what  care  Savinien  took  of  the  honor 
of  the  woman  who  was  to  be  his  wife  ;  but  she  had 
too  much  charity  and  true  religion  to  be  willing  to 
be  the  cause  of  death  or  suflîering  to  her  most  cruel 
enemy. 

"I  promise,  madame,  to  prevent  the  duel;  ^-ou  may 


336  Ursula. 

feel  perfectly  easy,  —  but  I  must  request  you  to  leave 
me  this  letter." 

"My  dear  little  angel,  can  we  not  come  to  some 
better  arrangement.  Monsieur  Minoret  and  I  have 
acquired  property'  about  Rouvre,  —  a  really'  regal  castle, 
which  gives  us  forty-eight  thousand  francs  a  year  ;  we 
shall  give  Desire  twenty-four  thousand  a  year  which  we 
have  in  the  Funds  ;  in  all,  sevent}'  thousand  francs  a 
year.  You  will  admit  that  there  are  not  man}'  better 
matches  than  he.  You  are  an  ambitious  girl,  —  and 
quite  right  too,"  added  Zélie,  seeing  Ursula's  quick 
gesture  of  denial  ;  "I  have  therefore  come  to  ask  your 
hand  for  Desire.  You  will  bear  your  godfather's  name, 
and  that  will  honor  it.  Desire,  as  3"ou  must  have  seen, 
is  a  handsome  fellow  ;  he  is  very  much  thought  of  at 
Fontainebleau,  and  he  will  soon  be  procureur  du  roi 
himself.  You  are  a  coaxing  girl  and  you  can  easily 
persuade  him  to  live  in  Paris.  We  will  give  you  a  fine 
house  there  ;  you  will  shine  ;  you  will  pla}"  a  distin- 
guished part  ;  for,  with  seventv  thousand  francs  a  year 
and  the  salary  of  an  office,  3'ou  and  Desire  can  enter  the 
higliest  society.  Consult  your  friends  ;  3'ou  '11  see  what 
they  tell  you." 

"  I  need  only  consult  my  heart,  madame." 
"  Ta,  ta,  ta  I  now  don't  talk  to  me  about  that  little 
lady-killer  Savinien.     You  'd  pay  too  high  a  price  for 
his  name,  and  for  that  little  moustache  curled  up  at  the 


Ursula.  337 

points  like  two  Liooks,  and  his  black  hair.  How  do  yoxx 
expect  to  manage  on  seven  thousand  francs  a  year, 
with  a  man  who  made  two  hundred  thousand  francs  of 
debt  in  two  years  ?  Besides  —  though  this  is  a  thing 
you  don't  know  yet  —  all  men  are  alike  ;  and  without 
flattering  myself  too  much,  I  ma}'  sa}'  that  m}-  Desire  is 
the  equal  of  a  king's  son." 

"You  forget,  madame,  the  danger  your  son  is  in  at 
this  moment  ;  which  can,  perhaps,  be  averted  only  by 
Monsieur  de  Portenduère's  desire  to  please  me.  If  he 
knew  that  you  had  made  me  these  unworthy  proposals 
that  danger  might  not  be  escaped.  Besides,  let  me  tell 
you,  madame,  that  I  shall  be  far  happier  in  the  moder- 
ate circumstances  to  which  you  allude  than  I  should  be 
in  the  opulence  with  which  you  are  trying  to  dazzle  me. 
For  reasons  hitherto  unknown,  but  which  will  3'et  be 
made  known,  Monsieur  Minoret,  b}'  persecutmg  me  in 
an  odious  manner,  strengthened  the  atïection  that  exists 
between  Monsieur  de  Portenduère  and  mj'self  —  which 
I  can  now  admit  because  his  mother  has  blessed  it.  I 
will  also  tell  3'ou  that  this  affection,  sanctioned  and 
legitimate  as  it  is,  is  life  itself  to  me.  No  destiny,  how- 
ever brilliant,  however  lofty,  could  make  me  change. 
I  love  without  the  possibility  of  changing.  It  would 
therefore  be  a  crime  if  I  married  a  man  to  whom  I 
could  take  nothing  but  a  soul  that  is  Savinien's.  But, 
madame,  sinc^  you  force  me  to  be  explicit,  I  must  tell 

22 


338  Ursula. 

3"ou  that  even  if  I  did  not  love  Monsieur  de  Portenduère 
I  could  not  bring  myself  to  bear  the  troubles  and  joys 
of  life  in  the  conipau}'  of  your  son.  If  Monsieur  Savi- 
nien  made  debts,  j'ou  have  often  paid  those  of  30ur  son. 
Our  characters  have  neither  the  similarities  nor  the  dif- 
ferences which  enable  two  persons  to  live  together  with- 
out bitterness.  Perhaps  I  should  not  have  towards  him 
the  forbearance  a  wife  owes  to  her  husband  ;  I  should 
then  be  a  trial  to  him.  Pray  cease  to  think  of  an 
alhance  of  which  I  count  myself  quite  unworth}',  and 
which  I  feel  I  can  decline  without  pain  to  you  ;  for  with 
the  great  advantages  you  name  to  me,  you  cannot  fail 
to  find  some  girl  of  better  station,  more  wealth,  and 
more  beauty  than  mine." 

"Will  you  swear  to  me,"  said  Zélie,  "to  prevent 
these  young  men  from  taking  that  journe}-  and  fighting 
that  duel  ?  " 

"It  will  be,  I  foresee,  the  greatest  sacrifice  which 
Monsieur  de  Portenduère  can  make  to  me,  but  I  shall 
tell  him  that  my  bridal  crown  must  have  no  blood  upon 
it." 

"  Well,  I  thank  you,  cousin,  and  I  can  onl^'  hope  3'ou 
will  be  happ}-." 

"And  I,  madame,  sincerely  wish  that  you  ma^'  real- 
ize all  3-our  expectations  for  the  future  of  your  son." 

These  words  struck  a  chill  to  the  heart  of  the  mother, 
who  suddenh'  remembered  the  predictions  of  Ursula's 


Ursula.  339 

last  dream  ;  she  stood  still,  her  small  eyes  fixed  on 
Ursula's  face,  so  white,  so  pure,  so  beautiful  in  her 
mourning  dress,  for  Ursula  had  risen  too  to  hasten  her 
so-called  cousin's  departure. 

"  Do  3-ou  believe  in  dreams?"  asked  Zélie. 

"  I  suffer  from  them  too  much  not  to  do  so." 

"  But  if  3'ou  do  —  "  began  Zélie. 

"Adieu,  madame,"  exclaimed  Ursula,  bowing  to 
Madame  Minoret  as  she  heard  the  abbe's  entering 
step. 

The  priest  was  surprised  to  find  Madame  Minoret 
with  Ursula.  The  uneasiness  depicted  on  the  thin  and 
wrinkled  face  of  the  former  post  mistress  induced  him 
to  take  note  of  the  two  women. 

"  Do  you  believe  in  spirits?"  Zélie  asked  him. 

"  What  do  you  believe  in?  "  he  answered,  smiling. 

"  The}'  are  all  slj',"  thought  Zélie,  —  "  every  one  of 
them  !  They  want  to  deceive  us.  That  old  priest  and 
the  old  justice  and  that  young  scamp  Savinien  have  got 
some  plan  in  their  heads.  Dreams  !  no  more  dreams 
than  there  are  hairs  on  the  palm  of  my  hand." 

With  two  stiff,  curt  bows  she  left  the  room. 

"  I  know  why  Savinien  went  to  Fontainebleau,"  said 
Ursula  to  the  abbé,  telling  him  about  the  duel  and  beg- 
ging him  to  use  his  influence  to  prevent  it. 

"  Did  Madame  Minoret  offer  you  her  son's  hand?" 
asked  the  abbé. 


340  Ursula. 

"  Yes." 

*•'  Minoret  has  no  doubt  confessed  his  crime  to  her," 
added  the  priest. 

Monsieur  Bongrand,  who  came  in  at  this  moment, 
was  told  of  the  step  taken  by  Zélie,  whose  hatred  to 
Ursula  was  well  known  to  bim.  He  looked  at  the  abbé 
as  if  to  sa}':  "  Come  out,  I  want  to  speak  to  you  of 
Ursula  without  her  hearing  me." 

"  Savinien  must  be  told  that  you  refused  eight}-  thou- 
sand francs  a  year  and  the  dandy  of  Nemours,"  he  said 
aloud. 

"Is  it,  then,  a  sacrifice?"  she  answered,  laughing. 
"  Are  there  sacrifices  when  one  truly  loves?  Is  it  any 
merit  to  refuse  the  son  of  a  man  we  all  despise?  Others 
ma}'  make  virtues  of  their  dislikes,  but  that  ought  not 
to  be  the  morality  of  a  girl  brought  up  by  a  de  Jordy, 
and  the  abbé,  and  my  dear  godfather,"  she  said,  look- 
ing up  at  his  portrait. 

Bongrand  took  Ursula's  hand  and  kissed  it. 

"Do  you  know  what  Madame  Minoret  came  about?" 
said  the  justice  as  soon  as  they  were  in  the  street. 

"What?"  asked  the  priest,  looking  at  Bongrand 
with   an  air  tliat  seemed  merely  curious. 

"  She  had  some  plan  for  restitution." 

"  Then  you  think  —  "  began  the  abbé. 

"  I  don't  think,  I  know  ;  I  have  the  certainty  —  and 
see  there  !  " 


Ursula.  341 

So  saying,  Boiigrand  pointed  to  Minoret,  who  was 
coming  towards  them  on  his  way  home. 

"  When  I  was  a  lawj'er  in  the  criminal  courts,"  con- 
tinued Bongrand,  "  I  naturall}'  had  many  opportunities 
to  stud}'  remorse  ;  but  I  have  never  seen  any  to  equal 
that  of  this  man.  What  gives  him  that  flaccidity,  that 
pallor  of  the  cheeks  where  tlie  skin  was  once  as  tight  as 
a  drum  and  bursting  with  the  good  sound  health  of  a 
man  without  a  care  ?  What  has  put  those  black  circles 
round  his  eyes  and  dulled  their  rustic  vivacity?  Did 
3'ou  ever  expect  to  see  lines  of  care  on  that  forehead  ? 
Who  would  have  supposed  that  the  brain  of  that  colos- 
sus could  be  excited?  The  man  has  felt  his  heart! 
I  am  a  judge  of  remorse,  just  as  you  are  a  judge  of 
repentance,  my  dear  abbé.  That  which  I  have  hitherto 
observed  has  developed  in  men  who  were  awaiting  pun- 
ishment, or  enduring  it  to  get  quits  with  the  world  ; 
the}'  were  either  resigned,  or  breathing  vengeance  ; 
but  here  is  remorse  without  expiation,  remorse  pure  and 
simple,  fastening  on  its  prey  and  rending  him." 

The  judge  stopped  Minoret  and  said  :  "  Do  you 
know  that  Mademoiselle  Mirouët  has  refused  your  sou's 
hand  ?  " 

"But,"  interposed  the  abbé,  "do  not  be  uneasy; 
she  will  prevent  the  duel." 

"Ah,  then  m}- wife  succeeded?"  said  Minoret.  "I 
am  very  glad,  for  it  nearl}-  killed  me." 


342  Ursula. 

"  You  are,  indeed,  so  changed  that  3'ou  are  no  longer 
like  yourself,"  remarked  Bongrand. 

Minoret  looked  alternately  at  the  two  men  to  see  if 
the  priest  had  betrayed  the  dreams  ;  but  the  abbe's  face 
was  unmoved,  expressing  only  a  calm  sadness  which 
reassured  the  guilty  man. 

"  And  it  is  the  more  surprising,"  went  on  Mon- 
sieur Bongrand,  "because  you  ought  to  be  filled  with 
satisfaction.  You  are  lord  of  Rouvre  and  all  those 
farms  and  mills  and  meadows  and  —  with  your  invest- 
ments in  the  Funds,  you  have  an  income  of  one  hundred 
thousand  francs  —  " 

"  I  have  n't  anything  in  the  Funds,"  cried  Minoret, 
hastily. 

"Pooh,"  said  Bongrand;  "this  is  just  as  it  was 
about  your  son's  love  for  Ursula,  —  first  he  denied  it, 
and  now  he  asks  her  in  marriage.  After  tr3-ing  to  kill 
Ursula  with  sorrow  you  now  want  her  for  a  daughter- 
in-law.  M3'  good  friend,  3'ou  have  got  some  secret  in 
your  pouch." 

Minoret  tried  to  answer  ;  he  searched  for  words  and 
could  find  nothing  better  than  :  — 

"  You  're  very  queer,  monsieur.  Good-da}',  gentle- 
men ;  "  and  he  turned  with  a  slow  step  into  the  Rue  des 
Bourgeois. 

"  He  has  stolen  the  fortune  of  our  poor  Ursula,"  said 
Bongrand,  "  but  how  can  we  ever  find  the  proof?  " 


Ursula.  343 

"  God  ma}'  —  "  began  the  abbé. 

"  God  has  put  into  us  the  sentiment  that  is  now 
appeaUng  to  that  man  ;  but  all  that  is  mereh'  what  is 
called  presumptive,  and  human  justice  requires  some- 
thing more." 

The  abbé  maintained  the  silence  of  a  priest.  As 
often  happens  in  similar  circumstances,  he  thought 
much  oftener  than  he  wished  to  think  of  the  robbery, 
now  almost  admitted  b}'  Minoret,  and  of  Savinien's 
happiness,  dela3'ed  onl}'  by  Ursula's  loss  of  fortune  —  for 
the  old  lad}'  had  privately  owned  to  him  that  she  knew 
she  had  done  wrong  in  not  consenting  to  the  marriage 
in  the  doctor's  lifetime. 


344  Ursula. 


XXI. 

SHOWING  HOW  DIFFICULT    IT  IS   TO   STEAL    THAT 
WHICH   SEEMS   VERY   EASILY   STOLEN. 

The  following  day,  as  the  abbé  was  leaving  the  altar 
after  saying  mass,  a  thought  struck  him  with  such  force 
that  it  seemed  to  him  the  utterance  of  a  voice,  lie 
made  a  sign  to  Ursula  to  wait  for  him,  and  accompanied 
her  home  without  having  breakfasted. 

"  M}'  child,"  he  said,  "I  want  to  sec  the  two  vol- 
umes your  godfather  showed  3-ou  in  your  dreams  — 
where  he  said  that  he  placed  those  certificates  and 
banknotes." 

Ursula  and  the  abbé  went  up  to  the  library  and  took 
down  the  third  volume  of  the  Pandects.  AVhen  the  old 
man  opened  it  he  noticed,  not  without  surprise,  a  mark 
left  by  some  enclosure  upon  the  pages,  which  still  kept 
the  outline  of  the  certificate.  In  the  other  volume  he 
found  a  sort  of  hollow  made  bv  the  long-continued 
presence  of  a  package,  which  had  left  its  traces  on  the 
two  pages  next  to  it. 

"  Yes,  go  up,  Monsieur  Bongrand."  La  Bougival  was 
heard  to  say,  and  the  justice  of  peace  came  into  the 
library  just  as  the  abbé  was  putting  on  his  spectacles 


Ursula.  345 

to  read  three  numbers  in  Doctor  Minoret's  hand-writing 
on  the  fl\-leaf  of  colored  paper  with  which  the  binder 
had  lined  the  cover  of  the  volume,  —  figures  which 
Ursula  had  just  discovered. 

"What's  the  meaning  of  those  figures?"  said  the 
abbé  ;  "  our  dear  doctor  was  too  much  of  a  bibliophile 
to  spoil  the  fl^'-leaf  of  a  valuable  volume.  Here  are 
three  numbers  written  between  a  first  number  preceded 
by  the  letter  M  and  a  last  number  preceded  by  a  U." 

"  What  are  you  talking  of?  "  said  Bongrand.  "  Let 
me  see  that.  Good  God  !  "  he  cried,  after  a  moment's 
examination  ;  "  it  would  open  the  eyes  of  an  atheist  as 
an  actual  demonstration  of  Providence  !  Human  justice 
is,  I  believe,  the  development  of  the  divine  thought 
which  hovers  over  the  worlds."  He  seized  Ursula  and 
kissed  her  forehead.  "  Oh  !  my  child,  you  will  be  rich 
and  happ}-,  and  all  through  me  !  " 

"  What  is  it?"  exclaimed  the  abbé. 

"Oh,  monsieur,"  cried  La  Bougival,  catching  Bon- 
grand's  blue  overcoat,  "  let  me  kiss  you  for  what  you've 
just  said." 

"  Explain,  explain!  don't  give  us  false  hopes,"  said 
the  abbé. 

"  If  I  bring  trouble  on  others  b}-  becoming  rich  "  said 
Ursula,  forseeing  a  criminal  trial,  "I  —  " 

"  Remember,"  said  the  justice,  interrupting  her,  "the 
happiness  you  will  give  to  Savinien." 


346  Urëida. 

"  Are  3'ou  mad?  "  said  the  abbé. 

"No,  m}'  dear  friend,"  said  Bongrand.  "Listen; 
the  certificates  in  tlie  Funds  are  issued  in  series,  —  as 
many  series  as  tliere  are  letters  in  the  alphabet  ;  and 
each  number  bears  the  letter  of  its  series.  But  the  cer- 
tificates which  are  made  out  to  bearer  cannot  have  a 
letter  ;  they  are  not  in  any  person's  name.  What  3'ou 
see  there  shows  that  the  da}'  the  doctor  placed  his  money 
in  the  Funds,  he  noted  down,  first,  the  number  of  his 
own  certificate  for  fifteen  thousand  francs  interest  which 
bears  his  initial  M  ;  next,  the  numbers  of  three  inscrip- 
tions to  bearer  ;  these  are  without  a  letter  ;  and  thirdly, 
the  certificate  of  Ursula's  share  in  the  Funds,  the  num- 
ber of  which  is  23,534,  and  which  follows,  as  you  see, 
that  of  the  fiftcen-thousand-franc  certificate  with  letter- 
ing This  goes  far  to  prove  that  these  numbers  are 
those  of  five  certificates  of  investments  made  on  the 
same  da}'  and  noted  down  b}'  the  doctor  in  case  of  loss. 
I  advisee!  him  to  take  certificates  to  bearer  for  Ursula's 
fortune,  and  he  must  have  made  his  own  investment 
and  that  of  Ursula's  little  property  the  same  da}'.  I  '11 
go  to  Dionis's  oflfice  and  look  at  the  inventoiy.  If  the 
number  of  the  certificate  for  his  own  investment  is 
23,533,  letter  M,  we  may  be  sure  that  he  invested, 
through  the  same  broker  on  the  same  day,  first  his  own 
property  on  a  single  certificate  ;  secondl}',  his  savings 
in  three  certificates  to  bearer  (numbered,  but  without 


Ursula.  347 

the  series  letter)  thirdly,  Ursula's  own  property  ;  the 
transfer  books  will  show,  of  course,  undeniable  proofs 
of  this.  Ha  !  Minoret,  you  deceiver,  I  have  3'ou  — 
Mbtus,  mj^  children  !  " 

Whereupon  he  left  them  abruptly  to  reflect  with  ad- 
miration on  the  ways  b}'  which  Providence  had  brought 
the  innocent  to  victory. 

"  The  finger  of  God  is  in  all  this,"  cried  the  abbé. 

"  Will  they  punish  him?  "  asked  Ursula. 

"  Ah,  mademoiselle,"  cried  La  Bougival.  "I'd  give 
the  rope  to  hang  him." 

Bongrand  was  alread}'  at  Goupil's,  now  the  appointed 
successor  of  Dionis,  but  he  entered  the  office  with  a 
careless  air.  "  I  have  a  little  matter  to  verify  about 
the  Minoret  propert}-,"  he  said  to  Goupil. 

"  What  is  it?  "  asked  the  latter. 

"  The  doctor  left  one  or  more  certificates  in  the  three- 
per-cent  Funds  ?  " 

"He  left  one  for  fifteen  thousand  francs  a  year," 
said  Goupil  ;  "  I  recorded  it  m3'self." 

"  Then  just  look  on  the  inventory,"  said  Bongrand. 

Goupil  took  down  a  box,  hunted  through  it,  drew  out 
a  paper,  found  the  place,  and  read  :  — 

"  'Item,  one  certificate' —  Here,  read  for  3'ourself 
—  under  the  number  23,533,  letter  M." 

"  Do  me  the  kindness  to  let  me  have  a  copy  of  that 
clause  within  an  hour,"  said  Bongrand. 


348  Ursula. 

"  What  good  is  it  to  you?  "  asked  Goupil. 

"Do  you  waut  to  be  a  notary?"  answered  the 
justice  of  peace,  looking  sternly  at  Dionis's  proposed 
successor. 

"  Of  course  I  do,"  cried  Goupil.  "  I  've  swallowed 
too  many  affronts  not  to  succeed  now.  I  beg  you  to 
believe,  monsieur,  that  the  miserable  creature  once 
called  Goupil  has  nothing  in  common  with  Maître  Jean- 
Sébastien-Marie  Goupil,  notary  of  Nemours  and  hus- 
band of  Mademoiselle  Massin.  The  two  beings  do  not 
know  each  other.  They  are  no  longer  even  alike.  Look 
at  me  !  " 

Thus  adjured  Monsieur  Bongrand  took  notice  of 
Goupil's  clothes.  The  new  notary  wore  a  white  cravat, 
a  shirt  of  dazzling  whiteness  adorned  with  rub}-  but- 
tons, a  waistcoat  of  red  velvet,  with  trousers  and  coat 
of  handsome  black  broad-cloth,  made  in  Paris.  His 
boots  were  neat  ;  his  hair,  carefuU}-  combed,  was  per- 
fumed—  in  short  he  was  metamorphosed. 

"  The  fact  is  you  are  another  man,"  said  Bongrand. 

"  Morall}'  as  well  as  physicalh'.  Virtue  comes  with 
practice  —  a  practice  ;  besides,  mone}'  is  the  source  of 
cleanliness  —  " 

"  Morally  as  well  as  physically,"  returned  Bongrand, 
settling  his  spectacles. 

"•  Ha  !  monsieur,  is  a  man  worth  a  hundred  thousand 
francs  a  vear  ever  a  democrat?     Consider  me  in  future 


Ursula.  349 

as  an  honest  man  who  knows  what  refinement  is,  and 
who  intends  to  love  his  wife,"  said  Gonpil  ;  "and 
what 's  more,  I  shall  prevent  my  cUents  from  ever  doing 
dirt}^  actions." 

"  Well,  make  haste,"  said  Bongrand.  "  Let  me 
have  that  copy  in  an  hour,  and  notary  Goupil  will  have 
undone  some  of  the  evil  deeds  of  Goupil  the  clerk." 

After  asking  the  Nemours  doctor  to  lend  him  his 
horse  and  cabriolet,  he  went  back  to  Ursula's  house  for 
the  two  important  volumes  and  for  her  own  certificate 
of  Funds  ;  then,  armed  with  the  extract  from  the  inven- 
tory, he  drove  to  Fontainebleau  and  had  an  interview 
with  the  promireiir  du  roi.  Bongrand  easily  convinced 
that  official  of  the  theft  of  the  three  certificates  by  one 
or  other  of  the  heirs,  —  presumabl}'  b}-  Minoret. 

"  His  conduct  is  explained,"  said  the  jyrocureicr. 

As  a  measure  of  precaution  the  magistrate  at  once 
notified  the  Treasury  to  withhold  transfer  of  the  said 
certificates,  and  told  Bongrand  to  go  to  Paris  and  ascer- 
tain if  the  shares  had  ever  been  sold.  He  then  wrote  a 
polite  note  to  Madame  Minoret  requesting  her  presence. 

Zélie,  ver}'  uneasy  about  her  son's  duel,  dressed  her- 
self at  once,  had  the  hoi'ses  put  to  her  carriage  and 
hurried  to  Fontainebleau.  The  procureicr's  plan  was 
simple  enough.  B3'  separating  the  wife  from  the  hus- 
band, and  bringing  the  terrors  of  the  law  to  bear  upon 
her,  he  expected  to  learn  the  truth.     Zélie  found  the 


350  .  Ursula. 

official  in  his  private  office  and  was  utterly  annihilated 
when  he  addressed  her  as  follows  :  — 

"  Madame,"  he  said  ;  "  I  do  not  believe  you  are  an 
accomplice  in  a  theft  that  has  been  committed  upon  the 
Minoret  property',  on  the  track  of  which  the  law  is  now 
proceeding.  But  you  can  spare  your  husband  the  shame 
of  appearing  in  the  prisoner's  dock  by  making  a  full 
confession  of  what  you  know  about  it.  The  punish- 
ment which  your  husband  has  incurred  is,  moreover, 
not  the  only  thing  to  be  dreaded.  Your  son's  career  is 
to  be  thought  of;  you  must  avoid  destroying  that. 
Half  an  hour  hence  will  be  too  late.  Tlie  police  are 
already  under  orders  for  Nemours,  the  warrant  is  made 
out." 

Zélie  nearly  fainted  ;  when  she  recovered  her  senses 
she  confessed  ever^'thing.  After  proving  to  her  that 
she  was  in  point  of  fact  an  accomplice,  the  magistrate 
told  her  that  if  she  did  not  wish  to  injure  either  son  or 
husband  she  must  behave  with  the  utmost  prudence. 

"  You  have  now  to  do  with  me  as  an  individual,  not 
as  a  magistrate,"  he  said.  "  No  complaint  has  been 
lodged  b}'  the  victim,  nor  has  any  publicity  been  given 
to  the  theft.  But  3'our  husband  has  committed  a  great 
crime,  which  may  be  brought  before  a  judge  less  inclined 
than  myself  to  be  considerate.  In  the  present  state  of 
the  affair  I  am  obliged  to  make  3-ou  a  prisoner  —  oh,  in 
my  own  house,  on  parole,"  he  added,  seeing  that  Zélie 


Ursula.  351 

was  about  to  faint.  "You  must  remember  that  my 
official  duty  would  require  me  to  issue  a  warrant  at  once 
and  begin  an  examination  ;  but  I  am  acting  now  indi- 
vidually, as  guardian  of  Mademoiselle  Ursula  Mirouët, 
and  her  best  interests  demand  a  compromise." 

"  Ah  !  "  exclaimed  Zélie. 

"  Write  to  your  husband  in  the  following  words,"  he 
continued,  placing  Zélie  at  his  desk  and  proceeding  to 
dictate   the  letter  :  — 

"  My  Friend,  —  I  am  arrested,  and  I  have  told  all. 
Return  the  certificates  which  uucle  left  to  ^lonsieur  de  Por- 
tenduere  in  the  will  which  you  burned  ;  for  the  procureur 
du  roi  has  stopped  payment  at  the  Treasury." 

"You  will  thus  save  him  from  the  denials  he  would 
otherwise  attempt  to  make,"  said  the  magistrate,  smil- 
ing at  Zélie's  orthography.  "We  will  see  that  the 
restitution  is  properly  made.  My  wife  will  make  yowY 
sta}'  in  our  house  as  little  disagreeable  as  possible.  I 
advise  you  to  say  nothing  of  this  matter  and  not  to 
appear  anxious  or  unhappy." 

Now  that  Zélie  had  confessed  and  was  safely  im- 
mured, the  magistrate  sent  for  Désiré,  told  him  all  the 
particulars  of  his  father's  theft,  which  was  really  to 
Ursula's  injury  but,  as  matters  stood,  legally  to  that  of 
his  co-heirs,  and  showed  him  the  letter  written  bj'  his 
mother.     Désiré  at  once  asked  to  be  allowed  to  go  to 


352  Ursula. 

Nemours  and  see  that  bis  father  made  immediate 
restitution. 

"It  is  a  ver}'  serious  matter,"  said  the  magistrate. 
"  The  will  having  been  destroyed,  if  the  matter  gets 
wind,  the  co-heirs,  Massin  and  Crémière  ma}-  put  in  a 
claim.  I  have  proof  enough  against  3-our  father.  I 
will  release  your  mother,  for  I  think  the  little  ceremony 
that  has  already  taken  place  has  been  sufficient  warning 
as  to  her  dut}-.  To  her,  I  will  seem  to  have  yielded  to 
your  entreaties  in  releasing  her.  Take  her  with  you  to 
Nemours,  and  manage  the  whole  matter  as  best  you 
can.  Don't  fear  an\-  one.  Monsieur  Bongrand  loves 
Ursula  Mirouët  too  well  to  let  the  matter  become 
known." 

Zélie  and  Desire  started  soon  after  for  Nemours. 
Three  hours  later  the  2'^'^^^^''^^'^^'''  ^^'^  ^^*  received  b}-  a 
mounted  messenger  the  following  letter,  the  ortho- 
graph}-  of  which  has  been  corrected  so  as  not  to  bring 
ridicule  on  a  man  crushed  by  affliction. 

To  Monsieur  le  procureur  du  roi  at  Fontainebleau  : 
Monsieur,  —  God  is  less  kind  to  us  than  you  ;  we  have 
met  with  an  irreparable  misfortune.  AVhen  ray  wife  and 
son  reached  the  bridge  at  Nemours  a  trace  became  unhooked. 
There  was  no  servant  behind  the  carriage  ;  the  horses  smelt 
the  stable  ;  my  son,  fearing  their  impatience,  jumped  down 
to  hook  the  trace  rather  than  have  the  coachman  leave  the 
box.  As  he  turned  to  resume  his  place  in  the  carriage  be- 
side his  mother  the  horses  started  ;  Desire  did  not  step  back 


Ursula.  353 

against  the  parapet  in  time  ;  the  step  of  the  carriage  cut 
through  both  legs  and  he  fell,  the  hind  wheel  passing  over 
his  body.  The  messenger  who  goes  to  Paris  for  the  best  sur- 
geon will  bring  you  this  letter,  which  my  sou  in  the  midst  of 
his  sufferings  desires  me  to  write  so  as  to  let  you  know  our 
entire  submission  to  your  decisions  in  the  matter  about  which 
he  was  coming  to  speak  to  me. 

I  shall  be  grateful  to  you  to  my  dying  day  for  the  manner 
in  which  you  have  acted,  and  I  will  deserve  your  goodness. 

François  Minoket. 

This  cruel  event  convulsed  the  whole  town  of  Ne- 
mours. The  crowds  standing  about  the  gate  of  the 
Minoret  house  were  the  first  to  tell  Savinieu  tiiat  his 
vengeance  had  been  taken  bj'  a  hand  more  powerful 
than  his  own.  He  went  at  once  to  Ursula's  house, 
where  he  found  both  the  abbé  and  the  joung  girl  more 
distressed  than  surprised. 

The  next  day,  after  the  wounds  were  dressed,  and 
the  doctors  and  surgeons  from  Paris  had  given  their 
opinion  that  both  legs  must  be  amputated,  Minoret 
went,  pale,  humbled,  and  broken  down,  accompanied  b^' 
the  abbé,  to  Ursula's  house,  where  he  found  also  Mon- 
sieur Bongrand  and  Savinien. 

''  Mademoiselle,"  he  said  ;  "  I  am  ver}-  guilty  towards 
you  ;  but  if  all  the  wrongs  I  have  done  you  are  not 
wholly  reparable,  there  are  some  that  I  can  expiate. 
M3'  wife  and  I  have  made  a  vow  to  make  over  to  you 
in  absolute  possession  our  estate  at  Rouvre  in  case  our 

23 


354  Ursula. 

son  recovers,  and  also  in  case  we   have  tlie  dreadful 
sorrow  of  losing  him."    . 

He  burst  into  tears  as  he  said  the  last  words. 

"  I  can  assure  you,  m}'  dear  Ursula,"  said  the  abbé, 
"that  .you  can  and  that  you  ought  to  accept  a  part  of 
this  gift." 

"Will  3'ou  forgive  me?"  said  Minoret,  humbly 
kneeling  before  the  astonished  girl.  "The  operation 
is  about  to  be  performed  by  the  first  surgeon  of  the 
Hôtel-Dieu  ;  but  I  do  not  trust  to  human  science,  I  rely 
only  on  the  power  of  God.  If  you  forgive  us,  if  you 
ask  God  to  restore  our  son  to  us,  he  will  have  strength 
to  bear  the  agony  and  we  shall  have  the  joy  of  saving 
him." 

"  Let  us  go  to  the  church  !  "  cried  Ursula,  rising. 

But  as  she  gained  her  feet,  a  piercing  cry  came  from 
her  lips,  and  she  fell  backward  fainting.  When  her 
senses  returned,  she  saw  her  friends  —  but  not  Minoret 
who  had  rushed  for  a  doctor  —  looking  at  her  with 
anxious  eyes,  seeking  an  explanation.  As  she  gave  it, 
terror  filled  their  hearts. 

"I  saw  my  godfather  standing  in  the  doorway," 
she  said,  "  and  he  signed  to  me  that  there  was  no 
hope." 

The  àa.j  after  the  operation  Desire  died,  —  cai'ried  off 
by  the  fever  and  the  shock  to  the  system  that  succeed 
operations  of  this    nature.     Madame   Minoret,   whose 


Ursula.  355 

heart  had  no  other  tender  feeling  than  maternity,  be- 
came insane  after  the  burial  of  her  son,  and  was  taken 
b}"  her  husband  to  the  establishment  of  Doctor  Blanche, 
where  she  died  in  1841. 

Three  months  after  these  events,  in  January,  1837, 
Ursula  married  Savinien  with  Madame  de  Portenduère's 
consent.  Minoret  took  part  in  the  marriage  contract 
and  insisted  on  giving  Mademoiselle  Mirouët  his  estate 
at  Rouvre  and  an  income  of  twentj'-four  thousand 
francs  from  the  Funds  ;  keeping  for  himself  onl}'  his 
uncle's  house  and  ten  thousand  francs  a  year.  He  has 
become  the  most  charitable  of  men,  and  the  most  relig- 
ious ;  he  is  churchwarden  of  the  parish,  and  has  made 
himself  the  providence  of  the  unfortunate. 

"  The  poor  take  the  place  of  my  son,"  he  sa3-s. 

If  j'ou  have  ever  noticed  by  the  wa3side,  in  countries 
where  they  poll  the  oaks,  some  old  tree,  whitened  and 
as  if  blasted,  still  throwing  out  its  twigs  though  its 
trunk  is  riven  and  seems  to  implore  the  axe,  you  will 
have  an  idea  of  the  old  post  master,  with  his  white  hair, 
—  broken,  emaciated,  in  whom  the  elders  of  the  town 
can  see  no  trace  of  the  jovial  dullard  whom  3'ou  first 
saw  watching  for  his  son  at  the  beginning  of  this  his- 
tory ;  he  does  not  even  take  his  snuff  as  he  once  did  ; 
he  carries  something  more  now  than  the  weight  of  his 
bod}'.  Beholding  him,  we  feel  that  the  hand  of  God 
was  laid  upon  that  figure  to  make  it  an  awful  warning. 


356  Ursula. 

After  hating  so  violentl}'  his  uncle's  godchild  the  old 
man  now,  like  Doctor  Minoret  himself,  has  concen- 
trated all  his  affections  on  her,  and  has  made  himself 
the  manager  of  her  property  in  Nemours. 

Monsieur  and  Madame  de  Portenduère  pass  five 
months  of  the  year  in  Paris,  where  the}-  have  bought  a 
handsome  house  in  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain.  Ma- 
dame de  Portenduère  the  elder,  after  giving  her  house 
in  Nemours  to  the  Sisters  of  Charitj'  for  a  free  school, 
went  to  live  at  Rouvre,  where  La  Bougival  keeps  the 
porter's  lodge.  Cabirolle,  the  former  conductor  of  the 
"  Dueler,"  a  man  sixt}'  3-ears  of  age,  has  married  La 
Bougival  and  the  twelve  hundred  francs  a  3ear  which 
she  possesses  besides  the  ample  emoluments  of  her 
place.  Young  Cabirolle  is  Monsieur  de  Portenduère's 
coachman. 

If,  you  happen  to  see  in  the  Champs-El3-sées  one  of 
those  charming  little  low  carriages  called  escargots^ 
lined  with  gra}'  silk  and  trimmed  with  blue,  and  con- 
taining a  pretty  young  woman  whom  you  admire  because 
her  face  is  wreathed  with  innumerable  fair  curls,  her 
eyes  luminous  as  forget-me-nots  and  filled  with  love  ; 
if  \on  see  her  bending  slightl}-  towards  a  fine  3'oung 
man,  and,  if  you  are,  for  a  moment,  conscious  of  envy 
—  pause  and  I'eflect  that  this  handsome  couple,  beloved 
of  God,  have  paid  their  quota  to  the  sorrows  of  life 
in   times   now   past.      These   married   lovers   are   the 


Ursula.  357 

Vicomte  de  Portenduère  and  bis  wife.  There  is  not 
another  such  home  in  Paris  as  theirs. 

"•  It  is  the  sweetest  happiness  I  have  ever  seen,"  said 
the  Comtesse  de  I'Estorade,  speaking  of  them  latel}-. 

Bless  them  therefore,  and  be  not  envious  ;  seek  an 
Ursula  for  ^-ourselves,  a  3'oung  girl  brought  up  b^-  three 
old  men,  and  by  the  best  of  all  mothers  —  adversity. 

Goupil,  who  does  service  to  everybody  and  is  justl}' 
considered  the  wittiest  man  in  Nemours,  has  won  the 
esteem  of  the  little  town,  but  he  is  punished  in  his 
children,  who  are  ricket}'  and  hydrocephalous.  Dionis, 
his  predecessor,  flourishes  in  the  Chamber  of  Deputies, 
of  which  he  is  one  of  the  finest  ornaments,  to  the  great 
satisfaction  of  the  king  of  the  French,  who  sees  Madame 
Dionis  at  all  his  balls.  Madame  Dionis  relates  to  the 
whole  town  of  Nemours  the  particulars  of  her  recep- 
tions at  the  Tuileries  and  the  splendor  of  the  court  of 
the  king  of  the  French.  She  lords  it  over  Nemours  b^^ 
means  of  the  throne,  which  therefore  must  be  popular 
in  the  little  town. 

Bongrand  is  chief-justice  of  the  court  of  appeals  at 
Melun.  His  son  is  in  the  way  of  becoming  an  honest 
attorney -general. 

Madame  Crémière  continues  to  make  her  delightful 
speeches.  On  the  occasion  of  her  daughter's  marriage, 
she  exhorted  her  to  be  the  working  caterpillar  of  the 
household,  and  to  look  into  everything  with  the  CA'es 


358  Ursula. 

of  a   sphinx.     Goupil   is    making  a   collection   of  her 
"  slapsus-linquies,"  which  he  calls  a  Crémièrana. 

"  We  have  had  the  great  sorrow  of  losing  our  good 
Abbé  Chaperon,"  said  the  Vicomtesse  de  Portenduère 
this  winter  —  having  nursed  him  herself  during  his  ill- 
ness. "The  whole  canton  came  to  his  funeral.  Ne- 
mours is  very  fortunate,  however,  for  the  successor  of 
that  dear  saint  is  the  venerable  curé  of  Saint-Lange." 


THE   END. 


Messrs.  Roberts  BrotJiers'  Ptiblicatio7is. 


BALZAC    IN    ENGLISH. 


A  Great  Mm  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris. 

By   honoré    de    BALZAC. 

Being  the  second  part  of  "  Lost  Illusions."     Translated  by  Kath- 
arine Prescott  Wormeley.     i2mo.     Half  Russia.     Price,  J1.50. 

We  are  beginning  to  look  forward  to  the  new  translations  of  Balzac  by  Katha- 
rine Wormeley  almost  as  eagerly  as  to  the  new  works  of  the  best  contemporary 
writers.  But,  unlike  the  writings  of  most  novelists,  Balzac's  novels  cannot  be 
judged  separately.  They  belong  together,  and  it  is  impossible  to  understand  the 
breadth  and  depth  of  the  great  writer's  insight  into  human  life  by  reading  any 
one  volume  of  this  remarkable  series.  For  instance,  we  rise  from  the  reading  of 
this  last  volume  feeling  as  if  there  was  nothing  high  or  noble  or  pure  in  life.  But 
what  would  be  more  untrue  than  to  fancy  that  Balzac  was  unable  to  appreciate 
the  true  and  the  good  and  the  beautiful  !  Compare  "  The  Lily  of  the  Valley  " 
or  "  Seraphita  "  or  "  Louis  Lambert"  with  "The  Duchesse  of  Langeais"  and 
"  Cousin  Bette,"  and  then  perhaps  the  reader  will  be  able  to  criticise  Balzac  with 
some  sort  of  justice.  —  Bostoti  Transcript. 

Balzac  paints  the  terrible  verities  of  life  with  an  inexorable  hand.  The  siren 
charms,  the  music  and  lights,  the  feast  and  the  dance,  are  presented  in  voluptu- 
ous colors —  but  read  to  the  end  of  the  book!  There  are  depicted  with  equal 
truthfulness  the  deplorable  consequences  of  weakness  and  crime.  Some  have 
read  Balzac's  "  Cousin  Bette  "  and  have  pronounced  him  immoral  ;  but  when 
the  last  chapter  of  any  of  his  novels  is  read,  the  purpose  of  the  whole  is  clear,  and 
immorality  cannot  be  alleged.  Balzac  presents  life.  His  novels  are  as  truthful 
as  they  are  terrible.  —  Springfield  Union. 

Admirers  of  Balzac  will  doubtless  enjoy  the  mingled  sarcasm  and  keen  analy- 
sis of  human  nature  displayed  in  the  present  volume,  brought  ont  with  even  more 
than  the  usual  amount  of  the  skill  and  energy  characteristic  of  the  author.  — 
Pittsburgh  Post. 

The  art  of  Balzac,  the  wonderful  power  of  his  contrast,  the  depth  of  his 
knowledge  of  life  and  men  and  tilings,  this  tremendous  story  illustrates.  How 
admirably  the  rise  of  the  poet  is  traced  ;  the  crescendo  is  perfect  in  gradation,  yet 
as  inexorable  as  fate!  As  for  the  fall,  the  effect  is  more  depressing  than  a 
personal  catastrophe.  This  is  a  book  to  read  over  and  over,  an  epic  of  life  in 
prose,  more  tremendous  than  the  blank  verse  of  "  Paradise  Lost  "  or  the 
"  Divine  Comedy"  Miss  Wormeley  and  the  publishers  deserve  not  congratula- 
tions alone,  but  thanks  for  adding  this  book  and  its  predecessor,  "  Lost  Illusions," 
to  the  literature  of  English.  —  San  Francisco  Wave. 


Sold    by    all    booksellers.      Mailed,    post-paid,    by    the 
Publis/iers, 

ROBERTS   BROTHERS,   Boston. 


Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers'  Publications. 


BALZAC    IN    ENGLISH. 


THE  BROTHERHOOD  OF  CONSOLATION. 

(UENVERS  DE  L'HISTOIRE   CONTEMPORAINE.) 

By    honoré   de   BALZAC. 

l.  Madame  de  la  Chanterie.  2.  The  Initiate.  Translated  by 
Katharine  Prescott  Wormeley.  i2mo.  Half  Russia.  Price, 
$1.50. 

There  is  no  book  of  Balzac  which  is  informed  by  a  loftier  spirit  than 
"L'Envers  de  l'Histoire  Contemporaine,"  which  has  just  been  added  by  Miss 
Wormeley  to  her  admirable  series  of  translations  under  the  title.  "  The  Brother- 
hood of  Consolation."  The  title  which  is  given  to  the  translation  is,  to  our 
thinking,  a  happier  one  than  that  which  the  work  bears  in  the  original,  since,  after 
all,  the  political  and  hisiorical  portions  of  the  book  are  only  the  background  of  the 
other  and  mote  absorbing  theme,  —  the  development  of  the  brotherhood  over 
which  Madame  de  la  Chanterie  presided.  It  is  true  that  there  is  about  it  all 
something  theatrical,  something  which  shows  the  French  taste  for  making  godli- 
ness itself  liislrionically  effective,  that  quality  of  mind  which  would  lead  a  Parisian 
to  criticise  the  coming  of  the  judgment  angels  if  their  entrance  were  not  happily 
arranged  and  properly  executed  ;  but  in  spite  of  this  there  is  an  elevation  such  as 
it  is  rare  to  meet  with  in  literature,  and  especially  in  the  literature  of  Balzac's  age 
and  land.  The  story  is  admirably  told,  and  the  figure  of  the  Baron  Bourlac  is 
really  noble  in  its  martyrdom  of  self-denial  and  heroic  patience.  The  picture  of 
the  Jewish  doctor  is  a  most  characteristic  piece  of  work,  and  shows  Balzac's 
intimate  touch  in  every  line.  Balzac  was  always  attracted  by  the  mystical  side 
of  the  phvsical  nature  ;  and  it  might  ahnost  be  said  that  everything  that  savored 
of  mystery,  even  though  it  ran  obviously  into  quackery,  had  a  strong  attraction 
for  him.  He  pictures  Halpersohn  with  a  few  strokes,  but  his  picture  of  him  has 
a  striking  vitality  and  reality.  The  volume  is  a  valuable  and  attractive  addition  to 
the  series  to  which  it  belongs;  and  the  series  comes  as  near  to  fulfilling  the  ideal 
o'  what  translations  should  be  as  is  often  granted  to  earthly  things.  —  Boston 
Courier. 

The  book,  which  is  one  of  rare  charm,  is  one  of  the  most  refined,  while  at  the 
same  time  tragic,  of  all  his  works.  — Public  Opinion. 

His  present  work  is  a  fiction  beautiful  in  its  conception,  just  one  of  those 
practical  ideals  which  Balzac  nourished  and  believed  in.  There  never  was  greater 
iiomage  than  he  pavs  to  the  book  of  books,  "  The  Imitation  of  Jesus  Christ." 
Miss  Wormeley  has  here  accomplished  her  work  just  as  cleverly  as  in  her  other 
volumes  of  Balzac.  —  N.  V.  Times 


Sold  bv    all    booksellers.      Mailed,    post-paid,    by    the 
Piiblishers, 

ROBERTS   BROTHERS,    Boston. 


Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers  Publications. 

25aÏ5ac  in  ^ngïi^t), 

THE  VILLAGE   RECTOR. 

By  Honoré  de  Balzac. 

Translated  by  Katharine  Prescoft  Wormeley.     i2mo. 
Half  Russia.     Price,  $1.50. 


Once  more  tliat  wonderful  acquaintance  wliich  Kalzac  had  with  all  callings 
appears  manifest  in  this  work.  Would  you  get  to  the  bottom  of  the  engineer's 
occupation  in  France?  Balzac  presents  it  in  the  whole  system,  with  its  aspects, 
disadvantages,  and  the  excellence  of  the  work  accomplished.  We  write  to-day 
of  irrigation  and  of  arboriculture  as  if  they  were  novelties  ;  yet  in  the  waste  lands 
of  Montagnac,  Balzac  found  these  topics  ;  and  what  he  wrote  is  the  clearest 
exposition  of  the  subjects. 

Hut,  above  all,  in  "The  Village  Rector"  is  found  the  most  potent  of  religious 
ideas,  —  the  one  that  God  grants  pardon  to  sinners.  Balzac  had  studied  and 
appreciated  the  intensely  human  side  of  Catholicism  and  its  ada|itiveness  to  the 
w.mts  of  mankind.  It  is  religion,  with  Balzac,  "  that  opens  to  us  an  inexhaustible 
treasure  of  indulgence."     It  is  true  repentance  that  saves. 

The  drama  which  is  unrolled  in  "The  Village  Rector  "  is  a  terrible  one,  and 
perhaps  repugnant  to  our  sensitive  minds.  The  selection  of  such  a  plot,  pitiless 
as  it  is,  Balzac  made  so  as  to  present  the  darkest  side  of  human  nature,  and  to 
show  how,  through  God's  pity,  a  soul  might  be  saved.  The  instrument  of  mercy 
is  the  Rector  Bonnet,  and  in  the  chapter  entitled  "The  Rector  at  Work"  he 
shows  how  religion  "  extends  a  man's  life  beyond  the  world."  It  is  not  sufficient 
to  weep  and  moan.  "That  is  but  the  beginning;  the  end  is  action."  Th« 
rector  urges  the  woman  whose  sins  are  great  to  devote  what  remains  of  her  lifst 
to  work  for  the  benefit  of  her  brothers  and  sisters,  and  so  she  sets  about  reclaim- 
ing  the  waste  lands  which  surround  her  chateau.  With  a  talent  of  a  superlative 
order,  which  gives  grace  to  Véronique,  she  is  like  the  Madonna  of  some  old  panel 
of  Van  Eyck's  Doing  penance,  she  wears  close  to  her  tender  skin  a  haircloth 
vestment.  For  love  of  her,  a  man  has  committed  murder  and  died  and  kept  his 
secret.  In  her  youth,  Veronique's  face  had  been  pitted,  but  her  saintly  life  had 
obliterated  that  spotted  mantle  of  smallpox.  Tears  had  washed  out  every  blemish. 
If  through  true  repentance  a  soul  was  ever  saved,  it  was  Veronique's.  This 
work,  too,  has  afiforded  consolation  to  many  miserable  sinners,  and  showed  them 
the  way  to  grace. 

The  present  translation  is  to  be  cited  for  its  wonderful  accuracy  and  its  literary 
distinction.  We  can  hardly  think  of  a  more  difficult  task  than  the  Englishing  of 
Balzac,  and  a  general  reading  public  should  be  grateful  for  the  admirable  manner 
in  which  Miss  Wormeley  has  performed  her  task.  — AViw  ï'ork  Times. 


Sold  by  all  booksellers.     Mailed,  post-paid,  on  receipt 
of  p?  ice  by  the  Publishers, 

ROBERTS    BROTHERS.    Boston.  Mass. 


Messrs.  Roberts  BrotJiers'  Publications. 


25al5ac  in  «Êngli^sfî). 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

By  Honoré  de  Balzac. 

Translated  by  Katharine  Prescott  VVormeley.     i2mo. 
Half  Russia.     Price,  $1.50. 


"There  are,"  says  Henry  James  in  one  of  his  essays,  "two  writers  In 
Balzac, — the  spontaneous  one  and  the  reflective  one,  the  former  of 
which  is  much  the  more  dehghtful,  while  the  latter  is  the  more  extraordi- 
nary." It  is  the  reflective  Balzac,  the  Balzac  with  a  theory,  whom  we 
get  in  the  "Deux  Jeunes  Mariées,"  now  translated  by  Miss  Wormeley 
under  the  title  of  "  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women."  The 
theory  of  Balzac  is  that  the  marriage  of  convenience,  properly  regarded, 
is  far  preferable  to  the  marriage  simply  from  love,  and  he  undertakes  to 
prove  this  proposition  by  contrasting  the  careers  of  two  young  girls  who 
have  been  fellow-students  at  a  convent.  One  of  them,  the  ardent  and 
passionate  Louise  de  Chaulieu,  has  an  intrigue  with  a  Spanish  refugee, 
finally  marries  him,  kills  him,  as  she  herself  confesses,  by  her  perpetual 
jealousy  and  exaction,  mourns  his  loss  bitterly,  then  marries  a  golden- 
haired  youth,  lives  with  him  in  a  dream  of  ecstasy  for  a  year  or  so,  and 
this  time  kills  herself  through  jealousy  wrongfully  inspired.  As  for  bel 
friend,  Renée  de  Maucombe,  she  dutifully  makes  a  marriage  to  please  her 
parents,  calculates  coolly  beforehand  how  many  children  she  will  have  and 
how  they  shall  be  trained;  insists,  however,  that  the  marriage  shall  be 
merely  a  civil  contract  till  she  and  her  husband  find  that  their  hearts  are 
indeed  one;  and  sees  all  her  brightest  visions  realized,  —  her  Louis  an 
ambitious  man  for  her  sake  and  her  children  truly  adorable  creatures. 
The  siory,  which  is  told  in  the  form  of  letters,  fairly  scintillates  witli 
brilliant  sayings,  and  is  filled  with  eloquent  discourses  concerning  the 
nature  of  love,  conjugal  and  otherwise.  Louise  and  Renée  are  both 
extremely  sophisticated  young  women,  even  in  their  teens  ;  and  those 
who  expect  to  find  in  their  letters  the  demure  innocence  of  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  type  will  be  somewhat  astonished.  The  translation,  under  the 
circumstances,  was  ratlier  a  daring  attempt,  but  it  has  been  most  felicit- 
ously done.  —  The  Beacon. 


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price  by  the  Publishers, 

ROBERTS  BROTHERS.  Boston.  Mass. 


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